


Time If You Need It

by Infinatesky



Series: Secrets (Geraskier) [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bisexual Jaskier | Dandelion, Cheating, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Geralt may or may not be into some shady business, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Gift Giving, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, I'll add more tags as the story progresses, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier does ballet, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Lack of Communication, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, On-Again/Off-Again Relationship, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Pining, Secrets, not too much but it's there, they are both idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23568841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infinatesky/pseuds/Infinatesky
Summary: Geralt took his jacket off, slinging it over the low back of the chair. His t-shirt underneath gave Jaskier a view of a bright red line running from just under his right collar bone, over his chest, and finishing near the elbow of his left arm. Jaskier lifted a finger to lightly run it over the fresh scar.“This one’s new,” he said, voice low and gentle, as if trying not to scare off an animal. This wasn’t the first time Jaskier had found Geralt with some sort of cut on his body. “How’d it happen?”“Doesn’t matter. It didn’t hurt.”“I find that hard to believe.” Jaskier tugged a bit of Geralt’s shirt down, so that he could see the cut as it continued over his chest. “Would you tell me if you needed help? If you were in trouble?”“Yes,” Geralt answered too quickly. He pushed Jaskier back so that he let go of his shirt, and then crossed his arms over his chest, somewhat hiding the cut. “Don’t worry about me.”-High school AU. They both think they aren't good enough for each other. That's it, that's the plot. (Or it was, until this thing developed a plot of its own.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Secrets (Geraskier) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1808419
Comments: 57
Kudos: 185





	1. Jaskier and the Moment of Weakness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be advised that I've never ridden in a convertible (but I have been to the beach).
> 
> Title is from the song 'Life in a Box' by Raleigh Ritchie

The seat was hard under his ass, but the air blowing past his face and whipping around his hair was warm, and this was oh so much better than taking the bus home. Jaskier placed his right hand onto the bulky part of the car door that the window had disappeared down into. His bony elbow slipped over the side and he let his hand follow it, reaching it out towards the side of the road. 

“Hand in the car,” Geralt said from the driver’s seat. His eyes were still locked on the road, but somehow he’d known what Jaskier was doing anyways. Ever the stickler for safety, he probably would claim he was worried Jaskier’s arm would get hit by something or otherwise find a way to fall off.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Jaskier, not in any particular hurry to appease the other boy. He did a slow movement with his hand, feeling the air push against his fingers. It was like he was a little kid again, finding intrigue in even the smallest of things: the way the tips of his fingers tingled from the wind against them, or the shine of his skin in the evening light. When he heard Geralt take a deep breath as if preparing to reprimand him again, Jaskier gave in and drew his hand back inside the convertible. He kept his elbow resting on the door, in just the slightest act of rebellion. 

“Do you have a radio yet?” Jaskier asked. There were many buttons and things on the dashboard—even a screen with a GPS—but none that he pegged immediately as a dial for the radio. 

“Yes,” said Geralt, but he didn’t elaborate. That meant that he didn’t want to listen to music right now. Although Jaskier loved music more than life itself, he couldn’t blame him; the sounds of the world around them were quite pleasant on their own. Geralt had chosen an absolutely gorgeous drive past the beaches, and sometimes the road brought them close enough to make out the sounds of the waves, or the jumbled but happy conversations from beach-goers. As the sun dipped closer and closer towards the horizon, the light began to develop a golden glow, and the birds joined in to remind everyone of their melodic voices. 

Geralt took the car smoothly around each curve, obeying the speed limit and rarely surpassing it. He wore a light sweater that clung to his chest in the wind, and he had it pushed up to his elbows, showing off his finely sculpted forearms and veiny hands. Jaskier balanced his head in his own hand, turned so that he could appreciate his driver. 

“Why are you staring at me?” So quick to question, that Geralt. Not much got by him.

“You’re pretty.” Jaskier said simply, voice honey smooth. Geralt scoffed, drummed his fingers uncomfortably against the steering wheel. 

“No Jaskier, the ocean is pretty. The sunset over the ocean is even nicer. Why’d I even bring us out here if you’re just going to stare at me?” 

Jaskier tsked softly, but relented and turned his head back towards the car-door side. A group of eight played volleyball in their swimsuits. He watched as a girl with her hair in a tight bun volleyed the ball over the net with good form. Past them, the waves lapsed lovingly against the yellow sand, moving closer and closer as the tide came in. 

“Are you planning to stop at the beach?” Jaskier asked.

“Do you want to?” Came the reply. Jaskier looked down at his lap, and ran his left hand over the red denim of his jeans. His mind churned, trying to read Geralt’s. He didn’t want to force Geralt to do something he didn’t want to, but more than that, he worried over how many times Geralt had blown him off over the last few weeks—he had been busy with football practice, allegedly, as well as whatever shady things he may or may not get up to on the weekends. Geralt had had the convertible for two weeks now, and this was the first time Jaskier had managed to snag a seat inside of it. He’d all but begged Geralt to drive him home, and had nearly keeled over in surprise when Geralt suggested that they take a detour route. Jaskier had wanted so badly to pull the other boy into a hug, but standing in their school foyer, while the end-of-day stream of students rushed by them, Jaskier knew better. He had talked himself down, and it had been the right call, evidently. 

“Yes,” Jaskier decided. “I want to feel the water. Maybe it’s warm enough that we can go swimming soon.”

Geralt didn’t answer with words, but Jaskier turned back to him in time to see the slightest of smiles warm his glacial features. He removed one of his lovely hands from the steering wheel for long enough to flip the turn signal on, and coaxed the car off of the road. The parking lot they turned into was small, but only a handful of other cars were present, leaving plenty of room for Geralt to find a spot for his prized convertible. Geralt would never outright say so, but Jaskier knew that he cared greatly for the car, as he did all of his possessions, and would not take kindly to any damage done to it. Jaskier took his time closing the door after exiting, to ensure nothing would break. Probably it was sturdy enough to not become damaged from slamming the door, but better safe than sorry. 

Their school bags locked into the trunk, Geralt and Jaskier walked side-by-side towards the beach. They walked close enough that their arms brushed, and Jaskier longed to take Geralt’s hand, but he was all too aware of how the other could be uncomfortable with public displays of affection. It was the same reason he had held back on the hug early that day, and so many times before. It wasn’t even just a gay thing: when Geralt had dated Yennefer, (before he realized he wasn’t attracted to girls,) he hadn’t liked to hold her hand in public, either. Jaskier accredited it to Geralt’s standoffish and intensely private nature. He knew it was selfish, but he couldn’t wait for it to change. He only hoped he’d still be on the receiving end when it did. 

Jaskier kicked his shoes off as soon as they got to the sand, carrying his high-tops by the laces. Geralt kept his boots on, and as if he was preventing it by sheer force of will, the sand didn’t stick to their black leather. Where Jaskier dressed like a spring morning, colourful and expressive, Geralt’s fashion sense could be easier related to the middle of the night in the dead of winter: all black. All except his hair, of course, which was nearly too white to rationally be called blond, It usually hung neatly down to his shoulders, but right now it was tangled in a mess of knots at the base of his neck. 

“Oh, your hair! It’s lookin’ a little matted from the wind, love,” Jaskier said, pausing their procession half way between the car and the water. Geralt reached one hand towards his hair quickly, as if caught off guard, and began to tug at the knots. He had such beautiful hair, but he couldn’t ever be bothered to take his time with it. Jaskier was not intending to watch as Geralt ruined his hair by pulling all the knots apart with brute strength. 

“Here, let me,” said Jaskier, dropping his shoes onto the ground. In some stroke of goodwill, Geralt made no noise of complaint, and Jaskier took that as resounding consent. He had to stand on his tip-toes to be at all effective, but luckily he'd always had good balance, and ballet had done wonders to his calf strength. As slowly as he felt Geralt would allow, Jaskier ran his nimble fingers through the soft strands of hair, de-tangling the knots and taking care to be gentle. Geralt was tough and uneasily hurt, but Jaskier hardly thought that was an acceptable excuse for him to not be treated with the highest standard of care. To finish, Jaskier made use of the hair elastic he had taken to keeping on his wrist for just such occasions, tying the hair into a small ponytail so that it wouldn’t become tangled again on the drive back. 

“All set,” Jaskier said, stepping around to stand once more beside Geralt.

“Hmm, thanks” said Geralt, running a hand over his scalp as if examining the work. 

“Will you let me braid your hair one day?”

“Maybe.” Geralt said, but his tone said ‘yes, Jaskier’. ‘Ask me again soon, Jaskier.’ 

Jaskier smiled, and it leaked into his voice when he asked, “Come to the water with me?”

“No, I don’t-”

“Oh, please? Just come a little closer.” Jaskier gave into his urges and grabbed Geralt by the wrist, gently tugging him in the direction of the waves. Geralt shook himself free of Jaskier’s grasp, and Jaskier took a dejected step back. “Come on, Ger.” 

“I’ll stay here. And don’t- you know I don’t like nicknames, Jaskier.” 

“Alright, yeah, sure,” Jaskier breathed in through his nose, forcing a smile back on his face. He made his voice extra cheery when he said, “I do like nicknames, though. You could call me Jask, or babe, or even dearheart...” 

Geralt stared at him blankly, before turning away. Jaskier bit his lip and walked, alone, to the water.

It was still cold, but not unpleasant. With his toes submerged in the salty ocean, Jaskier watched the sunset start. Another day over. Emotion tightened his throat, and curled his hands into tense fists by his sides; what had become of him? Hovering in the back of his mind, he could just remember a time when he would have been so happy here, at the beach during sunset. What a more perfect time to share a kiss with your love? Or at least hold them close, but Geralt was far away. He didn’t want to get his feet wet. Fine, fine. But couldn’t he stay a little closer? Jaskier, by nature, was a romantic. He daydreamed of over the top gestures and lavish couples vacations, and Geralt didn’t want any of that. Fine. It didn’t mean he loved Jaskier any less. Jaskier swallowed, pushing the sentiment down. Surely, it didn’t mean Geralt loved him any less. 

He felt another body approaching his space, and turned quickly in his excitement to see Geralt, but found instead the girl with the bun he had watched playing volleyball. She stood timidly, with her hand clenched together over her slim stomach, but in her eyes lived something mischievous. 

“Hello?” Jaskier managed.

“Hi.” After a pause, she continued, “I like your eyes. You’re even cuter up close.”

“Uh… thanks?” Jaskier wanted to take a step backwards, to get some more space in between them, but that would mean stepping ankle deep into the ocean. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so.” The girl did take another step. She closed the gap between them, pushing her chest up against his. She was attractive, with olive skin and an athlete’s body. Had Jaskier been single, he may have even welcomed her abrasiveness, but of course he was in a relationship. Was he in a relationship? Surely, yes. He was being dumb, of course he was in a relationship, the other person not even too far away and most definitely currently watching him. 

“What’s your name, pretty boy?” The girl said, breath warm and sweet on Jaskier’s lips.

“Jaskier.” I’m in a relationship, he thought. What are you doing, girl? He thought. He should push her away. He should push her off of him and tell her off. 

He stayed where he was. 

“You see, Jaskier, my friend over there, he dared me to kiss you. And I’m not the kind to turn down a dare.” Her voice was hot and pouty. Jaskier hated himself a bit for how much he liked it. She had one hand on his face before he had time to think straight, fingers wrapped firmly around his jaw. “Can I kiss you?” 

I’m in a relationship. I’m taken. The water splashed against his feet, stinging the small cuts from walking in the sand. Seagulls called out somewhere above them. The girl pressed in closer. God, she’s hot, pleaded the primal part of his brain. “Yes,” Jaskier breathed, “fuck, yes.”

Geralt had never kissed him. No one had ever kissed him like this. The girl, who’s name he didn’t even know, pushed her petal soft lips against his. She moved against him like the ocean on the sand, and wound a hand in his short hair. He found his hands clutching her waist, her electric skin. He felt terrible, but here was someone doing exactly what he so badly wanted, and somehow he could rationalize it. Jaskier nearly bit right though the girl’s lip when he was tugged roughly and suddenly to the side. 

“Oof,” Jaskier said, catching his breath. He was held in a vice grip, being dragged backwards. The sand scratched loudly against his feet. He watched from a strange angle as the girl sauntered back over to her friends, who greeted her with hoots and high-fives. Jaskier could tell from the strong arms and lack of conversation that he was being man handled by Geralt, and he didn’t try to fight it. His brain felt loopy from adrenaline, and hazy from the kiss. It took him a while to register the severity and stupidity of what he had done, but when he saw Geralt’s expression of confusion and sadness—easily readable emotion, right there on his face—the weight of his actions hit Jaskier like a brick wall. 

“Geralt, fuck, I-” Jaskier ran his hand over his face, trying to gather his thoughts. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

Geralt said nothing. He watched Jaskier unravel like a ball of thread and said nothing.

“She came onto me so quickly, I hardly even knew what I was doing. It was so dumb. I’m so dumb. I love you and it didn’t mean anything. What can I do to make it up to you? Ger - Geralt, I’m so, so sorry.” When Geralt still didn’t reply, Jaskier added, “Please say something? Talk to me. I need to know how you're feeling.” 

“I feel,” Geralt said slowly, voice like gravel, “like we’re done.” Geralt had never been one for long winded conversation, especially on emotional matters, so it shouldn’t have been such a surprise when he turned to leave without another word. Jaskier, still a bit in shock, wavered on his feet in the sand as he tried to chase after Geralt. He heard the door of the convertible close, and the engine start up. 

Like the wreck that he’d always been, Jaskier yelled after him, “We’re done what, Geralt? Dancing around each other? Were we even ever a couple?” With that, Jaskier fell down in the sand, dropping his head into his hand. He was so stupid. He’d gone and ruined the best thing he had in the world, and probably broken the heart of the person he loved. God dammit. God fuck. Hot tears fell from his eyes, dripping down and mixing with the sand. 

Jaskier dug his nails into the skin of his palm. He closed his eyes as tight as they would go and bit his lip to stop from screaming. Why had he done that? What was wrong with him? He didn’t know how long he cried for, but by the time the tears started to slow down, it was pitch black around him and starting to get cold. He lay on his back in the sand, too far past the point of concern for his clothes, and willed the ocean to take him. It was about what he deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops my hand slipped. 
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are fawned over and revered. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr infinate-sky


	2. Jaskier and the Problem with Walls

Jaskier woke up in his bed the next morning, which was good. It would have been better if he could remember how exactly he’d managed to find his way home from the beach, but beggars couldn't be choosers, he supposed. He sat up too fast and made his head swim—was he drunk? No, just dehydrated, probably. His head wasn’t pounding, and the light, when he pulled on his lamp, only bothered him a normal amount. He pushed himself out of bed, knees wobbly, and noticed uncomfortably that he was still in yesterday's jeans, albeit now shirtless and barefoot. The jeans were crusty with sand and salt water, and he pointedly didn’t look at the state of his bed sheets, fearing the same for them. 

Getting into the kitchen was a struggle. The stairs felt slanted and uneven under his feet, and the morning light from all directions was a menace to his still half asleep eyes. The cat raced past him when he stepped off the last step, and in his haste not to step on her (although she clearly had a death wish), Jaskier ran himself right into the wall. His bare shoulder smacked loudly against ‘Quintessential Blue’. 

There was a girl in the kitchen. This wasn’t uncommon—Jaskier lived in his elder brother’s house, and the busy bachelor was always bringing in girls for the night. It wasn’t a big deal, and even if he’d minded, it wasn’t Jaskier’s place to say anything. He was lucky enough to have a place to live after his parents had kicked him out. Jaskier only wished he’d known there was company over before leaving the room in nothing but his sand-caked jeans. He ran his hands down his sides self consciously as he passed her to get a glass from the cupboard. 

“Late night last night, huh?” The girl said. She was seated on one of the spinny stools at the island, her legs drawn up underneath her. A cup of coffee was clutched in her hands, showing off her pretty pink nails. 

“Oh, really? Late doing what?” said Jaskier absentmindedly. He was focused on holding the glass without dropping it as he turned the tap on. The sink just wouldn’t stay still, stupid thing. 

“You tell me, hun,” the girl said, amused. 

It took Jaskier a few tries to get the cup to his lips, but once he did, he drank the whole thing in one go. Ugh, when had water started tasting this good? He moved to fill the cup once more, satisfied with how the room had stopped spinning. Second cup gone, he finally devoted some brain power to what the girl had said, and was confused.

"Huh?” 

“It was quite sweet, really. You seemed so completely out of it, and he just carried you in like you weighed less than a feather.”

Suddenly very much awake, Jaskier looked at the girl with heightened interest. “Who did? Did he have white hair? Very notably well built and attractive?” 

“Well I’d say so, hun, but isn’t that more for you to decide? What were you two doing, anyways?”

Jaskier didn’t bother to reply. He doubted he’d ever see the girl again, and so had no real interest in coming off polite. Anyways, he had much more important matters at hand. If the girl was right, that meant Geralt had brought him home. Had returned to the beach to pick him up? Why? He ran back up the stairs and threw himself at his bed, feeling down the blankets in a wild attempt to find his phone. 

“Come on, come on… Ah ha!” He held the phone up victoriously, and held his breath as he switched it on. 5 messages, all from Geralt. He unlocked his phone to read them, sitting slowly onto his bed as he did so. For some reason, he felt the need to brace for bad news. ‘You might want to sit down for this,’ says the doctor to the dead patient’s family. He hadn’t let himself think, yet, about the events of last night. For one thing, his head still felt tired and a bit unclear, but mostly he just felt like crap, and thinking about it would just drive him deeper into the hole. 

Five messages was a lot to receive from ‘one text per day’ Geralt. The latest one, which Jaskier’s phone had received at 11:52 PM the previous night, read ‘Just stay where you are. I’m coming to get you.’ Jaskier scrolled up through the other messages, each one a different wording of Geralt asking Jaskier if he’d left the beach yet and if he was ok. It didn’t seem right, that Geralt would care so much. Why he’d even want to talk to Jaskier anymore after the horrendous thing Jaskier had done right in front of him, Jaskier had no idea. The cat, who must have squished herself through the nearly closed bedroom door, brushed herself against Jaskier’s legs. He slid down off of the bed, leaning back against it’s frame as he sat on the floor, and petted the cat with one hand as he tried to decide what to text back.

What does one say to their kind-of-sort-of boyfriend after kissing a girl right in front of them. Normally, probably, one needn't say anything because the relationship ended right then, but Geralt had come back for him. Jaskier loved Geralt. He loved everything about him: the way that Geralt tried to portray himself as a stone cold loner, but secretly was a big softie. How gentle he was with children and animals, and how he protected those weaker or smaller than himself. How gentle he was with Jaskier, when they were alone. No one else had ever shown him so much kindness, treated him like he was something so delicate and lovely. Obviously, he wasn’t any of those things—he was selfish and terrible, and Geralt deserved so much better. Despite all of his love for Geralt, Jaskier’s cruel, empty heart still hadn’t cared enough, and somehow against all effort, Jaskier had become his mother. He wouldn’t let it continue. For Geralt’s sake, they had to break up. 

Jaskier let his hand drop loudly to the floor, startling the cat, who jumped onto his lap and brushed her soft fur against his skin. She nudged his phone with her nose. 

“I know, I know, I’m thinking.” 

“Meow,” said the cat, which was utterly unhelpful. 

With a loud sigh of defeat, Jaskier typed ‘Thank you for making sure I got home ok last night. I understand if you don’t want to see me anymore.’ It wasn’t exactly a break up text, but that would be kinder to do in person. Once the message was sent, Jaskier quickly shut his phone off and tossed it away from himself. It skitted noisily across the floor, stopping against a discarded hoodie. 

“Don’t throw your phone, Julian,” Jaskier said quietly in a high, nasally voice. He hung his head backwards against the bed and allotted himself a few moments of sulking before getting dressed for school. If he had any luck left at all, he wouldn't bump into Geralt until at least lunch time.

\--~--

Because good luck seemed to be avoiding him like the plague, Geralt was one of the first people Jaskier saw while pacing the hallways before class. As soon as he saw Geralt’s powerful form come around the corner, Jaskier turned quickly on his heel and began again in the opposite direction, fully expecting Geralt to do the same. It hurt, of course it hurt to walk away like this, and he was sure the next few months of this would be hell. He’d probably end up falling back in with his old friend group, the bastards. For some reason, Geralt continued after him, and his long, quick strides caught up to Jaskier in no time. 

“Geralt, I meant what I said in the text,” Jaskier said, tugging on his backpack straps and staring straight ahead. He could feel his throat begin to tighten with apprehension for what he had to say. “I don’t-” Before Jaskier could finish telling Geralt that he thought they should break up, he was pushed out of the hallway, both of Geralt’s hands securely holding his biceps. Geralt’s fingers could nearly wrap all the way around his arms, noted the calmer part of Jaskier's brain. 

The bathroom door closed behind them, which Jaskier had a perfect view of, because Geralt was forcing him to walk backwards. There was a sort of vacant look in Geralt’s golden-brown eyes, and when he ran Jaskier’s back into the bathroom wall with no restraint, Jaskier knew something was definitely wrong. 

“What are you-”

“Backpack off.”

“Actually, I wanted to talk,” Jaskier said, but he complied and let his backpack fall onto the floor by his feet. “I think-”

Again he was cut off. Geralt began speaking overtop of him, muttering an apology, and Jaskier looked at him completely baffled. The foot traffic of students outside the bathroom made noises like a herd of animals going by, but the door stayed closed. The fluorescent lights painted Geralt’s hair snow-white, and it looked even more ragged than usual—half in and half out of a ponytail. The same ponytail Jaskier had helped him with last night?

“Wait, what do you mean you’re sorry? I’m the one who…” Jaskier didn’t want to say it. It would appear that Geralt didn’t want him to either, because strong hands were quickly on Jaskier’s shoulders, and his back hit the wall once more. Geralt, with all the grace of a sea-sick donkey, brought his head down to Jaskier’s and kissed him very chastely, with his lips closed. Immediately after, Geralt backed up once more and looked to Jaskier with a pleased look on his face, as if saying, ‘there we go, all better now’. 

Jaskier touched his own lips lightly with two fingers, taken aback. That had been… their first kiss. And it had been absolutely terrible. For one thing, his back hurt from the scratchy, uneven wall behind it, and Geralt’s technique had been far from perfect. But none of that would even matter if it wasn’t for the sense that the kiss had been given as a sort of display, or demand. There had been no love behind it, none of the gentleness or carefulness that Jaskier had grown to expect from Geralt. It had been harsh and rough and, if he was honest, mean. 

“Why did you do that?” Jaskier asked stiffly. 

“Did you not like it? Should I do it differently?” Geralt rushed to reposition himself, backing Jaskier into the wall yet again. 

“No, no! Stop! Look - I can tell you don’t really want to kiss me, so don’t do it! I don’t like it.” Geralt looked at Jaskier like a kicked puppy, so Jaskier added, “I don’t like seeing you like this.” Geralt took a couple steps back and crossed his arms over his chest. Jaskier bent to pick up his backpack. The bell for the start of first period rang, but neither of them made any move to leave. 

“I mean, it’s ok, but... Look, Geralt, about last night,” Jaskier tapped his heel against the wall behind him a couple of times before continuing, “What I did was unacceptable, and I feel like the absolute worst person alive. I’d like to say that I won’t ever do it again, but I didn’t think I’d do it this time either. I think it would be better if I didn’t have the ability to do that to you again.”

“You don’t want to be with me any more?” The voice that came from Gerald was so small, it was hard to believe it was his. 

“No, of course I still want to be with you. I’m saying that it’s not fair-”

“Ok well I still want to be with you too, so that’s settled then. I’ll see you at lunch.” The bathroom door closed on Geralt so quickly, Jaskier wondered if perhaps he’d been a figment of his imagination. The pain in his back was real enough, though; he rolled one shoulder back, stretching his neck to the side. There was something Geralt wasn’t letting on, that Jaskier knew for sure. And he felt bad letting their relationship continue, because obviously he couldn’t be trusted with Geralt’s kind, good heart, but Jaskier doubted he would try again anytime soon to end it, since somehow Geralt seemed to still want him. 

Just another reason why Jaskier was a terrible, selfish person. 

\--~--

They met once more in the cafeteria, at the same table where Geralt always sat. It was against the far wall, in the least crowded part of the huge room, and there was a door to outside nearby in case one needed quick escape. Geralt always sat with his back to the wall, the whole expanse of the cafeteria out in front of him. If any threat were to approach, (ie. loud and overly energetic freshmen, or anyone from the school newspaper who was holding a notepad,) he’d spot it before it got to him and be able to take action (thus, the door). Jaskier had learned this slowly from spending time with Geralt. It may not be headlining news, but it was important to him, and so he made sure to pay attention, and to remember. 

Jaskier had hardly swung into the seat beside Geralt before Geralt was tossing his school-mandated, one-per-lunch chocolate bar onto Jaskier’s tray, and taking Jaskier’s carton of milk in its place. 

“Do you want my sandwich, too? I’m not very hungry.” 

“No, Jaskier. You should eat it.” 

This line of conversation was becoming so commonplace for them that it was practically a lunch time ritual at this point. Jaskier felt calmer, sitting beside Geralt and communicating as if it was any day, as if last night hadn’t even happened. He let his shoulders drop as some of the tension eased, and it pulled at the discomfort from whatever they had been doing in the bathroom that morning. Jaskier hissed and rolled his shoulder back again, trying to make it feel better. 

“Shit, did I hurt you?” Geralt had leaned down to say it quietly in Jaskier’s ear, and when Jaskier turned to look at him, his eyes were wide with concern. Jaskier shook his head and smiled brightly, intent not to make the situation any worse. 

‘No, no. Just stiff is all. Probably from-” he would have said ‘from lying on the beach for so long’, but would that just bring up an uncomfortable line of conversation? Damn, this was like walking on eggshells. Maybe it would be easier if they did talk about it now. “What was that this morning, though?” 

Geralt sat back up and picked at his food a bit before answering. “You obviously want to kiss someone. Thought it should be me.”

Jaskier paused, carefully considering his next words. “Of course I want to kiss you. I never want to kiss anyone but you ever again, but we can wait until you’re ready. It’s not any good for either of us if you’re not comfortable.” He moved a bit on the bench, crossing his ankles underneath it. “And I- I would understand if after what I did last night you never want to kiss me. And that’s ok. I did a terrible thing, and I’m so sorry, but I can’t make it go away. What we do next is your decision.” 

“We can make it go away.”

“What?” 

“Pretend it never happened.” Geralt said this firmly, punctuating it with a bite of his sandwich to signal the conversation was done. Jaskier found himself in the unfamiliar position of feeling lost for words. A part of him wanted to keep pushing, to convince Geralt that he shouldn’t want him anymore, but a larger part of him was tremendously relieved. Somehow, he had found someone who was willing to give him a second chance. 

They ate for a few minutes in silence, but Jaskier eventually found his voice again and said, “Thank you. You’re more than I deserve. I won’t let you down again, I promise.” 

Geralt hardly ever blushed, but Jaskier could have sworn he saw just the faintest bit of colour seep into his cheeks. 

Jaskier was enjoying the first bite of his second chocolate bar when Yennefer decided to bless their table with her presence. The three of them weren’t friends, per se, but Yennefer enjoyed a good laugh the same as Jaskier, and Geralt could really do with at least one other person to talk to, so she was a welcome guest. Luckily, she really hadn’t been all that heartbroken when Geralt had broken up with her, and Jaskier had a secret assumption that it had something to do with the longing looks she often gave a girl from their English class.

“Why hello, lovebirds,” she sang, her voice with its ever-present edge. “Jaskier, you’re looking a bit worse for wear today. Rough night?”

“Fuck off, Yen,” both Geralt and Jaskier said in unison. Yennefer shrugged, and sat herself down across from them. They lapsed easily into conversation, and things felt very nearly back to normal. 

When Geralt subtly moved his hand to place it on Jaskier’s thigh, Jaskier was so surprised that he jumped a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts.


	3. Jaskier and the Colourful Box

Jaskier’s car was nicer than Geralt’s convertible—more expensive, although it didn’t look it. His car was black, and it had two doors. It was fairly unimpressive to the casual eye, especially with the way that Jaskier never washed it and drove it rather recklessly. Only the four rings displayed on the front of the car gave away the price tag. The car had been a gift from his parents when Jaskier had turned 16, and it had come with a looming message: ‘Drive yourself now, kid,’ his parents had hinted, ‘you’re too old for us to be carting you around places any more’. Jaskier hated driving. It called so much focus to just one thing, and made it illegal for him to go on his phone. Quite frankly, he was getting tired of the speeding tickets. He found himself often just forgoing the car entirely and walking to the bus stop, but there wasn’t any bus route that could take him to where he was going tonight. 

He glanced sideways, ensuring once more that the small, carefully wrapped box was still in place on the passenger’s seat beside him. The couple of hours between the end of school and the time Geralt had asked Jaskier to show up at his place hadn’t been much time to find a gift, and Jaskier wasn’t certain his boyfriend would like what he’d chosen. The pendant was made of white gold, although Jaskier would try to pass it off as silver if asked, and he hadn’t ever actually seen Geralt wear any type of jewelry. 

Jaskier had a coffee, too, because the sweet bitterness of a caramel macchiato was a perfect distraction to the way his chest felt numb. He wanted to see Geralt, but the little voice in his head kept nagging at him, telling him he should have broken the relationship off when he had the chance. He took a sip of the coffee. He braced his hands against the steering wheel and tried not to think. 

As Jaskier got closer to Geralt’s house, the cleanliness and upkeep of the yards on either side of the road got worse and worse. They became crowded with parts of broken down cars, pieces of trash, and yard waste. Grass grew up without the fear of being cut down. The houses themselves also became smaller and more run down. There weren’t any people walking or jogging on the sidewalk, and all of the blinds and windows were drawn shut. Jaskier felt as he always did when visiting Geralt’s house: as if he had stumbled into the darker side of the world that his youth had failed to introduce him to. That wasn’t really fair, because Geralt didn’t live anywhere particularly dangerous—his house was a mobile home at the end of a secluded road just in the outskirts of town. To Geralt, this was comfortable, and well known. Jaskier wondered if one day he’d be able to see it as familiarly as Geralt must, but he doubted it. Another thing driving them apart; another reason why Jaskier would be kinder to break it off. 

He took a sip of his coffee and tried not to think. 

The inside of the mobile home always felt bigger than it looked on the outside. It was possible that that had something to do with the presence of Geralt inside the house, the little crinkle by the sides of his eyes when he opened the door to let Jaskier in, the low rumble of his voice when he said hello. Jaskier toed his shoes off in the doorway, and hung his coat up on the hook that was so often left empty for him. His body pulled at him with want, and the longing to press himself against Geralt’s firm chest, but he held off. 

“Good evening, love, I- I brought you a gift of sorts.” The box was clutched in Jaskier’s tense fingers.

“Yes, I see it. Why?” 

“Hmm, well… why don’t we sit down and you can open it?” Jaskier avoided Geralt’s strong gaze, focusing instead on the little box and spinning it slightly in his hands. Geralt inhaled like he wanted to say something, but only came up with a short humming noise, before leading Jaskier deeper into the living room and motioning to the couch. Jaskier sat down on the middle cushion and placed the box gingerly onto the coffee table. Since Geralt didn’t make any motion to reach for it, Jaskier slid it over sideways so that it was directly infront of him. There was nothing else on the wooden coffee table, so the bright wrapping paper stood out like a sore thumb. The inside of Geralt’s place was always immaculately clean, and often smelled faintly of lemon or lavender. Jaskier couldn’t decide if it seemed more likely that Geralt or his mom did the cleaning, and he hadn’t ever found a convenient place to slip the question into a conversation. 

“Well,” said Jaskier, a bit impatient with nerves. “Are you going to open it?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” Geralt was sitting close enough to Jaskier that they were sharing body heat, and Jaskier could feel it as Geralt breathed in and out. He knew the softness of Geralt’s cotton sweatshirt, as it was rubbing against his bare arm. Jaskier also knew that Geralt was busy thinking—he could see it on his face. 

“It’s no pressure, obviously, but just so you know, it would make me really happy if you opened it. I wanted—no, I needed to do something to make it up to you, what I did. It’s a thank you, for being so understanding, and a promise that I’ll never do it again. I don’t even know for sure if you’ll like it or not, but I…” Geralt was staring at Jaskier, his mouth in a firm line. Jaskier was rambling again. 

“We agreed that we’re letting it go.” Geralt craned his neck so he could look Jaskier in the face as he spoke. 

“I know, it’s just- Okay, sorry, you’re right. So then it’s just a little something to remind you how much I love you. No other reason.” 

Geralt turned his head back to the front for perhaps the sole reason of side-eyeing Jaskier, but slowly and reluctantly he did pick up the little box. It looked even smaller in Geralt’s large hands, and Geralt turned it this way and that, looking for God knows what. 

“Just open it!” Jaskier said, exasperated. Geralt pursed his lips. He placed the box on his lap and pulled the wrapping paper apart with the tips of his fingers, paying attention not to rip it. It was excruciating to watch, and Jaskier’s heart beat faster with each second that passed. His hands ached to just reach over and open the box himself, tearing through the wrapping paper and leaving it falling to pieces on the floor. He thought of the various birthday parties he had attended, and of his own back when he was a child, and could not think of a single other person who had ever opened a present with the same expression as Geralt had on his face now. 

It took hours for Geralt to finally get the box out of all the paper. Ok, maybe that was an exaggeration, but if he’d gone any slower Jaskier was sure his heart would have exploded. The box itself was made of thin, cream-coloured cardboard, and unembossed. Jaskier had been pleased with that, as the name of the Jewelry store on the box would have been pretty much a dead giveaway as to how much Jaskier had spent on the piece, and it wasn’t a number that he felt particularly comfortable sharing with his boyfriend. Jaskier didn’t even work for his money, but that didn’t seem to make it any less of a sore spot. 

“A small paper box. How thoughtful,” Geralt deadpanned. 

“Are you joking?”

“Should I be?”

“Wha- yes! Oh my God, just open it before I have a heart attack!” Jaskier threw his hands up in impatience. Geralt, as slowly and carefully as ever, popped the lid off the box and looked inside. He stopped moving. His face became even less expressive than it usually was, and he held his breath. Jaskier found himself forgetting to breathe as well, and had to take a big inhale before talking. “What’s the matter? Do you not like it? I didn’t know if you were a jewelry person or not, so if you don’t think you’ll wear it I can take it back. Get something different…” 

“Jaskier, shh,” Geralt said softly. He slid a couple of fingers underneath the pendant and held it up to his face so that he could look at it properly. In the dull, yellow light of the living room, the silver pendant had a nearly red undertone, and it looked as smooth as butter. The elegant wolf’s head had a bowed, peaceful look to it, with the engraved eyes slanted and elongated as if it was sleeping. Its ears, however, stood alert and attentive. The necklace chain hung down from the wolf’s head pendant like a waterfall, shimmering and shining as Geralt shifted it between his fingers. “This is… wow. It’s beautiful.” 

“Yeah? I mean, it’s not custom made or anything, so, if you want to change something about it, we can get that done. The place also said it could be exchanged, or-” 

“Will you help me put it on?” Geralt’s calm, low voice cut easily through Jaskier raised worries. 

“Of course,” said Jaskier. He shook his hands out at his sides as he stepped around the coffee table, trying to rid himself of the last of his nerves. ‘Geralt likes the necklace, so everything is fine,’ he thought, ‘Calm down, Jaskier, my goodness. Everything is fine.’ He stood behind Geralt, leaning over the back of the couch, and lightly pulled Geralt’s ponytail elastic away from the bit of hair it was still holding, returning it to his own wrist. Without even really meaning to, Jaskier ran his fingers through Geralt’s hair three, four times before brushing it all over one of his shoulders and out of the way. He reached one hand over to undo the clasp of the chain, and fastened it around Geralt’s neck. The pendant fell just past Geralt’s collar bone; Jaskier silently congratulated himself for a good guess on the chain length. 

“Alright, what do you think?” Jaskier asked while he coaxed Geralt’s hair overtop of the chain and back behind his shoulders. Geralt ducked his chin to look at the pendant hanging newly against his chest. He ran it over with his pointer finger, and pulled it slightly side-to-side on the chain. He didn’t speak, so Jaskier filled the silence: “I chose the wolf pendant for you because of the football team, obviously, but also because of your fantastical hair.” He combed his fingers once more through the white-blond hair in question. “Like a white wolf.”

“Hmm,” said Geralt pensively, which wasn’t much to go off of, but he also reached back and pulled one of Jaskier’s hand down against his own shoulder. He clutched Jaskier’s thin hand tightly, rubbing his thumb occasionally over the back of it. Geralt didn’t always communicate with words, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t communicating. 

When Jaskier’s back got tired of bending over the top of the couch, he moved back around and cleaned up the wrapping paper and box. He left Geralt sitting on the couch, and did a quick round of the mobile home, depositing the paper into the trash, and placing the box onto Geralt’s desk in case he wanted to use it for storage later. He couldn’t help but pause in Geralt’s bedroom. It wasn’t often that he got time there alone, and he felt like the decorations, books, and even the way that the furniture was laid out was a puzzle for understanding Geralt, if only he could figure out how to put it together. The room was small, and filled with all of Geralt’s possessions which made it seem a bit crowded, but was quite deceiving. Geralt didn’t really have that many things. 

Jaskier crouched down to make out the titles of the novels crowded onto Geralt’s little half bookshelf. He didn’t recognize many, and some had long, impressive words in the titles as if they would be assigned in school. He tugged one off the shelf, which was not as easy as he was expecting since the books were so tightly packed in that they hardly wanted to budge. It was some technically written memoir by some American diplomat who had traveled to more countries than Jaskier cared to remember. Geralt had read this? He must have—it was well loved, with a cracked spine and many dog-eared pages. He returned the book carefully to the same place he’d found it.

Intrigued, and newly desperate to learn everything that made Geralt tick, Jaskier looped back around to the living room. He found Geralt still sitting on the couch, feet resting on the coffee table and head leant back against the top of the cushion. His eyes were closed, and his breaths were slow, as if he’d actually managed to fall asleep in the few minutes Jaskier had been gone. His arms were stretched out wide across the top of the couch, so Jaskier did what any self respecting boyfriend would do and tucked himself in against Geralt’s side. It made him think of a failed first date at a movie theater where someone had done the yawn-and-streatch-your-arm-over-their-shoulder to him, and he'd been thoroughly uncomfortable to the point of missing the last twenty minutes of the movie. As Geralt's heavy arm wrapped itself around Jaskier's waist, Jaskier wished on everything he could think of that he'd never have to go on a first date again. He tilted his head to look, but Geralt’s eyes were still closed, so Jaskier didn’t say anything. He let his gaze linger briefly on Geralt's relaxed expression, his lips slightly parted and adorably pink. After trying his darnedest to commit the image to memory, Jaskier snuggled his face back against Geralt and closed his own eyes as well.

It had grown dark outside by the time Jaskier came to again. He hadn’t really been sleeping, he didn’t think. Moreso he had been peacefully resting, letting hazy thoughts and wonders fill his mind like a colorful movie. He felt incredibly calm, as if Geralt's breathing and the up and down movemts of his chest had had a soothing effect. Jaskier slipped his phone from his back pocket with as little movement as possible, and saw that it was 9:12 PM. That was later than Jaskeir would have guessed— he hadn’t eaten anything since lunch, and he was surprised he didn’t feel hungrier. As if on cue, Jaskier stomach grumbled, and Geralt's eyes popped open at the sound. 

“Did my mom come in?” Geralt asked. He sounded too alert to have just woken up, so perhaps he had been resting the same as Jaskier. 

“Uh, no, I don’t think so.” Jaskier turned to look towards the doorway as if Geralt’s mother would walk in the door right that moment, but sure enough nothing happened. Sometimes it was like this: Geralt’s mother would say she'd be home at a certain time, but would get home much later, or early the next day. She could rarely be relied upon. Geralt never wanted to talk about it. Jaskier could understand; he didn't really like talking about his parents, either. At least Geralt's mom still let him live in her house. “Why? Did she-”

“She said she wanted to make us dinner,” Geralt sat up on the couch, pulling his hand from around Jaskier’s waist to check his own phone. Jaskier could see over Geralt’s shoulder that he hadn’t received any texts or calls. “You’re hungry?”

“Yeah,” said Jaskier. There was no point in lying, as Geralt hadn’t really been asking a question. 

“I think the grocery shopping needs to be done soon, but I’ll go see what we have.” 

“Let me help!” Jaskier followed Geralt into the little kitchen full of energy to devote to cooking. Geralt would say he was more of a hindrance than a true help, but Jaskier didn’t much care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you liked my take on Geralt's wolf medallion. 
> 
> Every kudo and comment gets to pet my kitten.


	4. Jaskier and the Bruised Ego

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for mild violence and blood/injury

Lively piano music from their across the floor split jump exercise tapered off as the last couple of dancers finished their jumps. The instructor shouted a reminder of the upcoming rehearsal over the dispersing students, her voice becoming lost as chatter picked up between the dancers, and bags were zipped open and water bottle caps unscrewed. 

Jaskier took a step back towards the wall, shaking out his legs—his calves and hamstrings vibrated from exertion, and he knew from experience that they would be sore tomorrow. He brushed the back of his wrist against his forehead to wipe off the sweat, smiling as he did so at his classmates who made eye contact as they walked past him, and then stretched both hands all the way up to the sky, enjoying the pop as his spine realigned itself. 

The girls in his class flooded out of the studio via the door in the back wall that would lead into their changeroom. Jaskier, being in the minority of male dancers, had to get ready in the bathroom off of the main hallway. In no hurry to stand in line waiting for his turn to change, Jaskier moved to the barre to do a few more stretches to cool down. He faced the barre so that his hips were parallel to it, and lifted one leg, placing it on the barre in a straddle. Taking his opposite hand up and over, Jaskier got into the stretch position by wrapping his fingers around the big toe of the foot on the barre, his upper body arced in a side stretch. 

Jaskier knew someone was moving about behind him, but he didn’t pay it much attention. He lent his focus to deepening the stretch, and counting the seconds so that he knew when to switch to the other side. Thin, cold fingers moved in to tickle his sides, making Jaskier laugh and squirm away. His leg fell off the barre, and he turned to face his assailant. A wide smile ate up Amy’s freckled cheeks, her hands held up and fingers still splayed as if she was ready to get him again. 

“Cheeky cheeky!” Jaskier said. He jumped at her, tickling her back, then lifting her up and spinning her in a circle. “I missed you! Pas de deux isn’t the same without you. How was Barcelona?”

“So beautiful. Dance is the heartbeat of that city; it feels like you’re really part of something important as a dancer there, you know?” She let herself down gracefully from Jaskier’s arms, readjusting her strappy shirt over her slim shoulders. “But I missed you too.” She pulled Jaskier against her into a tight hug, and he kissed her forehead lightly. Amy and Jaskier had been dance partners since Jaskier started ballet in fifth grade, and they had been friends long before that. He had watched her buy her first pair of pointe shoes, and massaged her feet after. She had given him enough relationship advice to fill an entire manual. 

“Do you want to come to my house for a bit? I still have to unpack, but we could chat while I put everything away.” Amy asked, stepping out of their hug. 

“Oh, I so would, but I have plans already. Geralt and I are going out for ice cream, and we’re going to compare study notes before our test tomorrow. We need to hang out soon, though. I'll die if you don't tell me about all the hot dancers you must have seen in Spain.” 

“Wait, speaking of hot—Geralt's the muscley one with the white hair, right?”

“You know it.” Jaskier had turned back to the barre to stretch out his second side. 

“Ooh Jaskier, you bad boy! Okay, I’ll see you Wednesday for stretch and strength, then.” She patted his back with more force than necessary, then waltzed over to the door, her entry to the changeroom met by excited chatter that Jaskier could hear from the classroom. Amy was the crazy little sister that he’d never had, and Jaskier felt a bit like the sun had made its first appearance after a long, dark winter. He grabbed his water bottle and took a greedy sip, before leaving the now empty studio through the main door. Outside, he found Sam, one of the other boys in his class. 

“Bathroom free?” Jaskier asked, reaching down to grab the strap of the small, black duffel bag where he kept his change of clothes and extra dance shoes.

“Yo, I got a picture of you and the gf for insta, come have a look,” Sam smiled at Jaskier suggestively, holding his phone out.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Jaskier said, eyebrows scrunching together. When he saw the picture on Sam’s phone, he couldn’t help but laugh. It was a blurry, badly framed shot of Amy and him during their hug. “Aw boy, I don’t know what’s funnier, the fact that you think Amy and I are together, or the fact that you think that’s a good enough picture for Instagram. My feed is an art form, Sam. It is made up of only the finest photos to present to the world the person who I wish I was. That blurry monstrosity would never make the cut." Sam looked somewhat offended, but Jaskier left before he could say anything, still laughing heartily as he locked himself into the bathroom to change. 

Jaskier’s jeans stuck uncomfortably to his sticky skin as he tried to pull them on, but it would be worth it. The ice cream shop Geralt was planning to take him to was just about the closest thing to a date that they had been on in weeks, and Jaskier wasn’t giving up the opportunity to remind Geralt just what a hot piece he'd managed to land. Of course, Jaskier wasn’t anywhere near Geralt’s level of effortlessly hot, but he knew how to rock what he had. The jeans were a big part of it: they were unarguably stylish, with rips in the knees and contrast stitching up the sides. Their light blue colour matched his eyes, and they were tight in all the right places. He turned this way and that to admire himself in the mirror, and was not upset by the sight. For a shirt, Jaskier had chosen a form-fitting hoodie in a darker colour than he normally wore. If he was a girl, Jaskier imagined he would have tucked the front of the hoodie into his jeans, but he didn’t feel ready to pull that off. Instead, Jaskier pushed the sleeves up to his elbows, and cuffed his jeans because, duh. After running a hand through his hair in a half-assed attempt to make it look less like he had just been sweating, he left the bathroom. From the dance world back into the real world. 

Jaskier had told Geralt to pick him up at 7:30, which was half an hour after Jaskier’s class ended, because he knew he’d need time after class to get ready. Geralt still beat Jaskier to the parking lot, convertible impossible to miss in amongst the minivans and station wagons driven by the dance moms. 

“This button is for the radio,” Geralt said by way of greeting as Jaskier swung himself into the passenger seat.

“Fuck yes,” Jaskier answered, flipping between the channels as Geralt pulled out of the parking spot. He found a pop music station, then proceeded to alternate between singing along, and talking loudly over the music to tell Geralt about his day. Geralt nodded encouragingly, even inputting the occasional one-word response. Geralt had done his hair up in a ponytail this time, Jaskier noticed, and it seemed to be doing its job to stop the hair from tangling. 

As they entered the popular little ice cream shop, Geralt walked just ahead of Jaskier, and Jaskier felt comfortingly like he was being protected and hidden behind Geralt’s strong form. Geralt led them to a booth beside a window that looked out into the road, and when the waitress came, Geralt took it upon himself to order for them both. Jaskier could feel himself swooning, and did absolutely nothing to fight it. 

“You’re so sexy when you take control,” Jaskier said, head tilted and resting in his hand. Geralt blushed and looked down at the table. He cleared his throat before talking. 

“Did you bring your study guide?”

“Boo, boring! Flirt with me.” 

“Did you bring your study book?” 

“What is sexy about book as compared to- oh!” Jaskier stopped when he felt Gerald’s fingers brush against his thigh under the booth. They were sitting across from each other, which meant that Jaskier got a perfect view to Geralt’s slightly slanted shoulder from the way he’d had to reach. The contact was gone as fast at it had come, though, and Jaskier mourned the loss. 

“Ok, now. Did you bring your-”

“Yes, yes I have my study guide.” Jaskier undid his bag to pull out the booklet of rumpled pages that he’d spent nearly a month despairing over. Who did their calculus teacher think she was, assigning them a novel worth of questions. Who even needed math anymore? If Jaskier wanted to know the square root of 72, or how to express it in radical form, the answer was always just one google search away. His brain was too packed full of song lyrics, puns, and the Geralt Encyclopedia to fit in a bunch of useless numbers and rules. 

“Did you understand all the questions?” 

“No, I didn’t understand a single one.” When Geralt just glared at him, Jaskier let out a breath and relented, “I got most of them. I’m still a little confused about antiderivatives.”

“Integration?” 

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t know- um…” Jaskier wanted to hide his study guide back in his bag. He wanted the ice cream to arrive so that they could talk about something else. He hated looking dumb, especially when he was in front of Geralt. 

Geralt slitted his eyes in concentration, and looked at Jaskier as if he was a page from Where’s Waldo. Finally, he said, “You’re embarrassed. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Jaskier.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jaskier said, pausing longer than normal between each word. For all Jaskier's effort to understand Geralt, Geralt could apparently read him as easily as an open book. 

“Let me help you.” 

Jaskier crossed his arms and looked at Geralt for a long time, trying his stop his thought process from showing plainly on his face. It was the wolf pendant that caught his attention, and Jaskier felt his heart swell that a week later Geralt was still wearing it. He'd said he would, and he had. He’d claimed to like the necklace, and here he was, still showing it off overtop of his shirt. Geralt didn’t ever say things he didn’t mean, and he didn’t do anything maliciously. He’d offered to meet up and help Jaskier study, and now he was patiently waiting to hold up his end of the bargain. Jaskier supposed that it was his time to be vulnerable—and to do so with the complete trust that his boyfriend would do nothing but help and support him. 

“I don’t have any idea what’s going on with chain rule, or how to use the short cuts," Jaskier finally convinced himself to say, albeit through clenched teeth.

“Hmm,” Geralt produced his own study guide from somewhere on his person, and flipped it open, turning it to face Jaskier. “Do you see the brackets here, and the ‘dx’ beside it?” He pointed with a finger as he explained, eyes flicking between the page and Jaskier, to make sure he was following along and understanding. When the ice cream came, they ate it in small bites as Geralt continued the lesson. Jaskier began to take notes somewhere along the way, and he didn’t clue into the arrival of night time until he was squinting to make out the pencil marks on his paper in the now dim light. He checked the time on his phone, and gently cut Geralt off. 

“I think the shop is closing soon.”

“Oh.” Geralt sat up from how he’d been hunched over the table and looked around, seeming slightly lost. “Do you understand now?”

“Yes, much better than I did before. You’re a really good teacher, you know. Thank you.”

“No problem. It helps me too—to explain it. I remember more.”

“Still, thanks. And of course I knew it already, but you’re so fucking smart.” Geralt looked away, busying himself with his booklet as if he was avoiding the compliment, so Jaskier said it again. “You’re so smart, like maybe the smartest person in the whole class. No one expects it, because you’re like a die-hard jock and you never put your hand up to answer the questions, but you always know the answers, don’t you? I wish I had your brain.” 

“Hmm,” mumbled Geralt, and yeah, that was definitely a blush on his cheeks. Jaskier smiled triumphantly. He picked up his ice cream bowl to drink down the rest that had melted. 

“I’ll take these over, then we can go,” Jaskier offered, taking Geralt’s empty bowl and stacking it in his own. He didn’t want to make any more work for the waitstaff than necessary, as the shop was still full of people even though he was pretty sure it was nearly closing time. As he walked past one of the loudest tables, a rush of laughter erupted, and he jumped at the sudden sound. One of the boys at the table pushed back in his chair, head tilted towards the sky as he laughed merrily. “Oh, ah-” Jaskier mumbled, turning sideways to squeeze past. Just as he stepped behind the chair, the boy was overtaken by a new round of laughter which caused his arms to come flying up. The empty bowls were knocked out of Jaskier’s hands, and they crashed onto the floor with the terrible sound of breaking glass. Chair legs scraped against tile, and the laughter died down until everything was quiet, and all eyes were pointed at Jaskier.

“Hello there, I, uh-” Jaskier bent down and picked up a large piece of the broken glass, careful to not cut himself. He put in lightly in his palm, then went to pick up another one. “So sorry to bother you. Rather unfortunate timing, I’d say. Sounded like you guys were having a good laugh over something, so please continue. I’ll be out of your way in just a second.”

“What’r you laughin’ at?” There were a few figures standing over him, members of the table who had yet to sit back down, and the voice came from one of them.

“Me? Oh, no, I said-” 

“There’s glass in my ice cream!” This was a call from someone sitting at the table. 

“You got glass in our ice cream and now you’re laughin’ about it?” The voice from above him again.

“No, I didn’t-” Jaskier was tugged to standing by the collar of his shirt. The rough movement caused him to clench his hands, and he could feel the sting from where the glass had surely cut through his skin. His heart pounded in his throat. Jaskier had never been in a fight before, and other than the ones he’d seen in movies, he didn’t know anything about them. He couldn’t remember if he was supposed to punch with his thumb inside or outside of his fist—not that he’d be able to land a good enough punch either way. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry… Geralt!” If there was someone who would know what to do in a fight, though, it was Geralt.

The hand on Jaskier’s shirt released him, and Jaskier stumbled backward a step. The rowdy boys from the table glared to him from all angles. Three of them had moved around him in a sort of circle, their faces all big and ugly and mean. Jaskier held his hands up in the bravest looking fighter stance he could muster, but the boys just chuckled at him. The one on his left side pushed on Jaskier’s shoulder, and Jaskier stumbled from the force, which made the three laugh again. 

“Little bitch thinks he can fight,” one of them said. 

“I can’t wait to make him cry. I’ll bet he cries like a baby,” suggested another. 

“I want first punch,” decided the third. “Bet he’ll fall right over.” 

“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” This voice was deeper, flat, and achingly familiar. Jaskier dropped his tentative fists as Geralt stepped infront of him, at the same time blocking Jaskier from the three boys and putting himself into the center of attention. The three boys were taller than Jaskier, but Geralt towered over them all, as if he were a superhero, or a god. The boys from the table dropped their facade embarrassingly fast, ducking their heads and slouching their shoulders. They murmured a few half-assed apologies as they slunk back around their table. A waitress who had shown up to clean the glass threw a concerned look at Jaskier, as Geralt ushered him, shaking, through the doors to the parking lot. 

Geralt opened the passenger side door and helped Jaskier in, sitting him sideways on the seat so that his legs hung outside of the vehicle. Geralt’s hands were on his shoulders like calming weights. Jaskier had one of his own hands pressed against his lips, and the other hand—the one that had the glass in it—rested on his lap. That hand was still closed into a ball, and he desperately didn’t want to open it for fear of what it might look like. He hadn’t even looked at that arm since it happened; he half expected to have blood running down his wrist. He knew that his eyes were open very wide, and that he could taste bile in his mouth. Other than that, Jaskier was feeling rather confused. 

“Did you save me?” 

“No, I just stepped in front of you.” 

“Did you carry me to the car?” 

“No, you walked here on your own.” 

“Those fucking thugs.”

“Hmm.” 

“...Geralt?”

“Yes?”

“I think my hand is bleeding.” Jaskier had coaxed his hand open, and it wasn’t so bad that it was sending a river of blood down his wrist, but he was also pretty sure that it wasn’t good. His face felt cold, and his head was beginning to spin. “Oh no. I don’t think I like looking at it.” 

“Fuck, Jaskier, why didn’t you show me that sooner?” Geralt immediately switched his attention to Jaskier’s palm. He lifted it up into one of his own hands very gently, looking at it closely. “Glass?”

“Yeah. I tried to pick it up, and then I squeezed it. Like a stress ball.” Jaskier shut his mouth abruptly to stop a gag, and turned his gaze away from his hand. “Would not recommend.” 

“Hold on,” said Geralt. He walked briskly around the back of the car, and returned shortly with a little red first aid bag. 

“Of course you have a first aid kit already,” Jaskier said. If he’d felt less like he was about to be sick, he would have rolled his eyes. 

“And of course you’re the first one who needs it.” 

“Touché.” 

Geralt cleaned the cut gingerly with an antiseptic wipe, and took his time wrapping a bandage in circles around Jaskier’s hand. His motions were efficient and effective, yet they didn’t cause Jaskier even the slightest bit of pain. Geralt finished by saying, “Hold pressure until we get to your house, and I want to check it again before I leave.” 

“Or you could just stay at my place for the night? Teach me some more math?” 

Geralt was in the driver’s seat, preparing to back the convertible out of its parking spot before he spoke again. “My mom is expecting me home. Make sure you hold pressure, Jaskier.” Jaskier held pressure as Geralt put more and more distance between them and the ice cream shop, but he couldn’t help but wonder if stopping the pressure, and just letting the cut bleed, would force Geralt to stay with him a little longer. The aching in his hand was nothing compared to how much he’d hate falling asleep alone in his bed again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My goodness Jaskier, are you fantasizing moving in together already? 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Hope you all are staying healthy in this bizarre time. xx
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment!!!1!!!1! (Please)


	5. Jaskier and the Lonely Math Test

Jaskier was very good at talking, which translated into being very good at whining. That, coupled with the fact that he knew just the right combination of sad eyes and pouty lips to use on Geralt, meant that he could get the other boy to do pretty much anything Jaskier wanted. This is how Jaskier got Geralt to follow him into his house even though, minutes before, Geralt had been very certain that he’d just be giving the cut one last look and then leaving. 

Geralt, for his part, was also very good at knowing just how much he had to give Jaskier before he’d stop complaining, a fact which Jaskier had come to realize but was yet to notice as it happened. By the time Jaskier was in bed, pyjamas on, cut freshly bandaged, and a yogurt cup in his hand (“because you haven’t eaten dinner yet, Jaskier”), he’d realized Geralt’s plan too late. 

“No. You’re about to leave, aren’t you.” 

Geralt looked up from where he’d been paging through his math book, seated in a wooden chair beside Jaskier’s bed. Jaskier was pretty sure it was a normal sized chair, but Geralt made it look like a kid’s toy. 

“... In a few minutes, yeah?” Geralt tilted his voice up at the end, phrasing it as a question, but it was more of a statement, just voiced in a way which he’d deemed the least likely to upset his boyfriend 

Jaskier licked the last bit of yogurt off his spoon, taking his time before answering. “It’s okay, Geralt. I don’t want to keep you here with me if you’d rather be somewhere else.” He knew it was a low blow—a self depreciation disguised as a pleasantry—but he was in too messy of a mind frame to care. He couldn’t help but replay the scene of the almost-fight from the ice cream shop over and over in his head. If you’d asked him before, Jaskier would have said he’d be happy to play the damsel in distress, but now he wasn’t so sure. He’d been so helpless then, with weak, thin arm muscles and no bite to his words. What would happen when Geralt realized how much work he was? When he got tired of coming to the rescue? 

“It’s just—my mom wants-” Geralt said, oblivious to the conversation Jaskier was having with himself in his head. Oblivious, that is, until Jaskier dropped his face into his good hand and started to cry. “Jaskier?” Geralt asked, reaching forward to awkwardly pat Jaskier’s shoulder. 

“You go, love. I’m just a burden unto you. We’d be better off apart—I’m sure you’ve realized.” Jaskier enunciated the words in a ridiculously over the top way. He hated himself for how pathetic he sounded, but he knew it would make Geralt worry, make him feel bad. It would make Geralt stay. Jaskier needed Geralt to stay. “I’m so fucking dumb. I don’t know how you can stand me. I got myself into a fight at an ice cream shop—an ice cream shop!” Jaskier heaved one last sob, before peeking through his fingers at Geralt. He saw the other boy do something quick on his phone, then toss it aside. Jaskier felt the bed dip beside him as Geralt sat down. 

“The fight wasn’t your fault. They were assholes,” Geralt cleared his throat, before hesitantly finishing, “And you’re not a burden.”

Jaskier threw his arms around Geralt’s broad shoulders, his mood completely changed. “Thank you, babe. You’re too sweet to me. I love you. Never leave me.” He snuggled his head in against Geralt’s chest, getting comfy. Geralt didn’t say anything, and he didn’t move to wrap an arm around Jaskier, but he also didn’t leave, so Jaskier considered it a win. He fell asleep in a state of bliss, so happy and warm against Geralt. 

He didn’t hear Geralt’s phone buzz the first time, or the tenth time, or the nineteenth time. 

\--~--

Jaskier awoke the next morning to Geralt bumping loudly into the wall, a string of curse words working their way though his lips. 

“Mmn, Geralt? What… time?” Jaskier muttered. He moved to rub his eyes, but was met by a painful stinging on one of his palms. The events of the last night came back to him. 

“Five thirty,” Geralt said matter-of-factly.

“Why-” 

“I must have fallen asleep.” 

Jaskier, now that he’d had a moment to watch, realized that Geralt was moving about frantically in preparation to leave. “You’re running out on me?” 

Geralt swung his bag over his shoulder. His hoodie was tucked into the crook of his elbow, and his hair was frizzy from sleep. His face was creased in worry. “Sorry, Jask. I really have to go.” He did look sorry, although Jaskier had no idea where he was so desperately needed at 5:30 AM. 

“Alright,” Jaskier said. His voice was muffled from the pillow that he’d rolled back onto. “See you at school.” But Geralt had already left. Jaskier pulled the blanket up tight under his chin, trying to replicate the warmth from having another body beside him. All it did, really was make his palm hurt again. He’d tried everything he could think of, and Geralt had still left. An empty, agonizing feeling washed over him, and in the darkness with his eyes closed, Jaskier’s thoughts would have free range. Going down that path was something he couldn’t handle right now, so Jaskier sat up again, early morning be damned, and flicked on his lamp. 

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. The curtain on his window was open, and he could see that the world outside was already beginning to get some light to it as the sun prepped for its arrival. Every so often he could hear a car drive by, and some of the houses across the street already had a light or two flicked on. Jaskier couldn’t remember the last time he’d been up this early (his preferred wake up time was ‘five minutes before he’d be late’), and he felt like he’d unlocked a new part of the day. Something about the early morning felt crisp and important, like no matter what you did, it was productive. He was alive, and awake, and important. But then he yawned, and the tiredness washed back over him. Probably, he would let the early risers keep this time for themselves. 

He used the tips of his fingers to reach his phone from its place on his desk, and opened it up to Spotify. Selecting a playlist of acoustic songs which he supposed would be nice to slowly wake up to, he turned the volume to low and put the phone on the pillow beside his ear, listening with closed eyes to the guitar and soft singing. Jaskier loved the guitar—all string instruments, really. He’d taken a few guitar lessons in the past, and not to brag or anything, but he’d actually been pretty good. Maybe one day he’d pick it up again. 

For now, in this soft moment somewhere between asleep and awake, somewhere between night and day, Jaskier was content to just listen. 

\--~-- 

Geralt’s desk was empty. It was the only empty desk in the math room—the only tucked in chair, the only unclaimed test, the only name marked absent. Something was wrong. Jaskier tapped his pencil anxiously against his desk, eyes flitting between the math test he was supposed to be taking (thirteen minutes in, zero questions completed), and the classroom door. If the door were to swing open now, with a ruffled, apologetic Geralt rushing in, then everything would be okay. Every second that the door stayed closed, on the other hand, was another reason why something was most definitely wrong. There was no way Geralt would be skipping the class. He wasn’t the type of person to ditch school, and even if he had decided he’d wanted a few more days for the test, he would have talked to the teacher about it first, which he definitely hadn’t done. The teacher looked just as confused as Jaskier felt: she kept looking down at her watch, and at the door just the same as Jaskier. 

In the end, it turned out that they’d both been watching and waiting in vain. Jaskier slipped his test packet onto the pile with everyone else’s when the class came to an end. He wasn’t proud of the 13 out of 23 questions that he’d managed to complete, but given the situation, he wasn’t particularly disappointed with himself, either. The teacher seemed to sense his preoccupied state, and pulled Jaskier over to the side as the rest of the class cleared out. The students were uncharacteristically quiet as they filed out into the hallway, probably mentally tired from the tricky test, so the teacher had to speak very softly to keep their conversation private.

“Have you heard from Geralt today, Jaskier?” Her lips were curled into a nice smile, but her eyes shone even brighter with kindness. Despite Jaskier’s feeling for the subject, he really did like the math teacher. 

“No, Ms.Mollie. I don’t know where he is.” Jaskier couldn’t stop the worry from creeping into his voice. 

“Alright, perhaps he just got caught up at home. He’ll need to get the test caught up sometime soon. If you want to redo yours at the same time, Jaskier, that would be okay.” Ms.Mollie put a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder comfortingly. Without anyone needing to say anything, Jaskier knew that she saw him, and he was thankful. 

He felt some tension leave his shoulders, and when he replied, his voice was calmer. “Thank you. I’ll do that.” 

The rest of Jaskier’s day went by in a stressful blur. The drop of calm that he’d felt with Ms.Mollie was soon diluted by the loud, busy hallways, and lively, busy classrooms. It would seem that everybody except Geralt had decided to show up today. Jaskier made it through the day much thanks to his headphones, and periodic trips to the washroom for moments of quiet. Even Yennefer and her sarcastic banter couldn’t make him smile. 

“I think it’s my fault,” Jaskier admitted to her over their usual lunch table, which was really Geralt’s usual lunch table, and it felt wrong to be sitting there without him.

“What? Did you lock him in your basement? Drop him off in the middle of nowhere and drive away? Geralt is his own person, and he’s not inclined to listen to what others tell him to do. Whatever he’s doing right now, I’m sure it was entirely his decision.” 

“No, I know, but-” Jaskier glared at his milk carton, “I pretty much forced him to sleep over at my place last night. And when he left, he was all in a hurry, and kept saying something about needing to get home to his mom. What if something-” He couldn’t even finish that sentence. 

“See, you stopped yourself because you realized how stupid you sound.” Yennefer tossed her chocolate bar onto Jaskier’s tray, in a surprising show of attention to others. Jaskier normally got Geralt’s rejected chocolate bar. “The big guy is fine. Be calm, bro.” 

Jaskier stuck his tongue out at her. He was glad for her company, but he couldn’t believe her. Something was most definitely wrong. 

\--~--

Jaskier hadn’t driven his car to school that morning and he didn’t have time to go home first to get it, so he tried his luck and took the bus as far as he could towards Geralt’s house. He sat on a seat near the front, with his knees hugged against his chest and his backpack slung under his seat. The bus was constantly full of people, but the people kept leaving and being replaced with new ones. On either side of him, Jaskier could feel it each time a new person sat down, brushing his shoulder or making the seat dip. It was impossible to get comfortable, but it was also impossible to get too wrapped up in his thoughts. 

At a stop about 25 minutes away from the school, across from a grocery store, a boy around Jaskier’s age got on. He was wearing tight, black clothes, and his hair was the epitome of sexy bed head: all alluring, dark and curly. It surrounded his face like a halo. It could have been the dim lighting of the bus, but Jaskier was also pretty sure that the boy was wearing eyeshadow, just a smudge of dark brown above and below his eyes. Whatever it was, the boy certainly knew what he was doing. Jaskier couldn’t take his eyes off of him. 

They made eye contact across the bus, as the boy had chosen a seat facing Jaskier. The dark angel smiled suavely. Jaskier felt his cheeks heating up. He was just about to smile back, a bright, sunny smile with teeth and everything, when he remembered why he was on the bus to begin with. Fuck, Jaskier was such a terrible boyfriend. He dropped his face onto his knees, and didn’t look back up again until he was sure the other had gotten off. 

The boy was gone, but something else remained. There was a sticky note stuck to Jaskier’s knee. He didn’t know how it’d been put there without him knowing, but the sticky note with 10 numbers on it could only be from one person. Jaskier wanted to throw it out and forget about it, he really did, but there weren’t any garbage cans on the bus, so Jaskier slipped the phone number into his backpack with the intention of throwing it out as soon as he got home. He wasn’t even going to read the numbers—he had no reason to remember them. 

The bus had nearly emptied as they approached Geralt’s street. At the last stop before the bus would turn in the opposite direction, Jaskier got off. His legs were wobbly from sitting in the same way for nearly an hour, and his heart was going faster than he would have liked. He plugged his headphones in and played some music into one ear as he began to walk the rest of the way to Geralt’s house. 

Jaskier would have listened to the music with both earbuds in, but he wanted to be at least a bit attuned to the world around him. It was beginning to get dark, and long shadows cast themselves off of the dirty, dilapidated houses. He felt watched and unsafe. His hands rubbed anxiously over the sides of his legs with each step. The air smelled damp, like it was going to rain, and every so often he thought maybe he felt a drop of water land on him, but it never amounted to anything. 

An aggressive bark sounded from behind a chain link fence as Jaskier walked by, causing him to flinch back. The dog, a big mutt with a long snout, jumped up so that its front paws were on the fence. Jaskier kept walking, pace quickened. He didn’t want to stay and find out whether or not the dog was able to hop the full way over the fence. Dogs were wonderful—Jaskier considered himself a dog person. Dogs who seemed to want to rip your heart from your body, however, were a different story. 

Jaskier could still hear the dog barking as he ascended the couple of steps to Geralt’s front door. He raised his fist to knock, but the door began to open before he could. It opened just a crack, and then slammed shut once more. 

“Hello?” Jaskier called. There was no answer. “Geralt?” Jaskier saw a shape move behind the curtains, but there was still no answer. “It’s Jaskier. I wanted to apologize. Please open the door.” The door stayed closed. After a few minutes of the door staying closed, Jaskier took a walk around the house. He went to Geralt’s window, but the heavy blind was drawn and it was impossible to see inside. He moved on to the back of the mobile home, and finally around to the side that the kitchen was on. Through the little square window that Jaskier knew to be above the kitchen sink, he could see the torso of a woman wearing a light blue blouse. 

“Mrs.Durivii? Can I come in?” It felt weird to be talking though the kitchen window, but Jaskier felt he’d run out of options. 

“Hello? Who is there?” Geralt’s mom had an accent of some kind, although Jaskier didn’t know where from. Her sentence ended with an up tilt, and she pronounced the ‘th’ more like a ‘d’. 

“It’s Jaskier. I’m outside.” 

“Who?” 

“Jask- Please, Mrs.Durivii, can I come in?” There was no answer, but she did walk away, and Jaskier rushed around to the front door just as she was pulling it open once more. She didn’t open it enough for Jaskier to enter, just enough so that she could stick her head outside. Geralt’s mom had the same white-blonde hair, hers styled into a large bun on top of her head. She had a pretty face, but it was always drawn into a worried, untrusting glare. Jaskier didn’t think he’d even seen her smile. Compared to her, Geralt seemed like the most enthusiastic and expressive person on the planet. Except that right now he was nowhere to be seen. 

“Is Geralt here?” 

Mrs.Durivii drew her mouth into a straight line, before replying simply, “Yes.”

“Can I… see him?” Jaskier had one hand on the door handle, and it appeared Geralt’s mom was doing the same from the other side, as the door wouldn’t budge. “He wasn’t at school today, and I wanted to make sure he’s alright.”

“He is fine.” 

“Why wasn’t he at school? Can I talk to him?” 

“He is sleeping.” Mrs.Durivii began pulling the door shut. Jaskier fought to keep it open.

“What, all day? I don’t-” 

“Goodnight, Jaskier. I will tell him you stopped by.” 

“No, wait!” The door slammed shut, nearly cutting off the top of Jaskier’s fingers. Geralt’s mom was stronger than she looked—that explained where Geralt got it from, although he certainly looked it as well. Jaskier tried to open the door, but it had already been locked. He knocked on it, rapping his fist against it and then moving to just hitting it with his good palm, but no one replied. He didn’t know Mrs.Durivii very well, but there was no way that that conversation was anyone’s normal. “Geralt!” He called out. No one answered from inside the house, but the dog started barking again from down the road. “Geralt!” He cried out once more. The sky finally opened up, and it began to rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing a bisexual main character is??? so much fun??? I get to write him as attracted to whoever I want and that gives so many opportunities. I may never go back to anything else. (Also it's v relatable aha.) 
> 
> Ok but also how do we feel about Jaskier's actions this chapter? Acceptable? 
> 
> Would love to hear your thoughts! Thank you so much for reading! xx


	6. Jaskier and the Pretty Purple Shirt

The next time Jaskier saw Geralt, it was Saturday. He heard a car pull up outside of the house, but assumed at first that it was one of his brother’s friends, here to take him away for another party or pub crawl. He remained seated on the floor of his bedroom, mindlessly pushing a toy car forwards and backwards with his index finger. The car was a light blue Hot Wheels that he didn’t remember buying. It possibly belonged to his brother, somehow transported to the new house when he first bought it. Or maybe it had come with the house: a forgotten belonging from the former inhabitants. Wherever the toy car had come from, it hadn’t received much attention. It still shone shiny and perfect, with all four tiny wheels attached and functioning. 

From downstairs, nearly hidden by the techno music that his brother was pumping out of a speaker, Jaskier heard the doorbell ring. While not odd in itself, the doorbell sounded unfamiliar and out of place in his brother’s house. None of his brother’s friends or female companions ever rang the doorbell—they just walked right on in. Still, Jaskier didn’t move. Maybe it was a delivery, or someone asking for directions. He closed his eyes lightly and listened to the abrasive music, the footsteps, the rolling of tiny wheels against the floor. He heard the door open, and his brother’s voice. And Geralt’s voice. 

Jaskier pushed the car too hard and it flew out of his grip, fleeing all the way to the other side of the room and crashing into the baseboard. He frantically put on a better outfit than last night’s pyjamas. 

Geralt was taking him to the mall. Geralt hated the mall. Jaskier was confused. Also, Geralt refused to even acknowledge his absence from school over the past few days, no matter how many times Jaskier tried to bring it up. Geralt was yet to say more than two words to him, and Jaskier felt very much like he was talking to a brick wall. Although of course someone had to be beside him driving the convertible, Jaskier kept glancing over to make sure that Geralt hadn’t vanished into thin air, or been replaced by an inanimate object. 

“I went to your house,” Jaskier tried, about half way into their drive. “I spoke to your mom.” This managed to get Geralt’s attention. He used his right hand to turn the radio down, prompting a frown from Jaskier. 

“When?” 

“The first day you didn’t come to school. It was right after you stayed the night Geralt, did I-” 

“What did she say?” Geralt stopped the car with a jolt at the red light. Jaskier fell forward and was caught, roughly, by the seat belt. 

“Um… not much. I asked to come in and see you and she wouldn’t let me. I think she said you were sleeping. What were you-” 

“Why would you do that?” 

“What, come to your house? Worry about you?” 

“I was fine. I’m always fine. Don’t go looking for problems where there aren’t any.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to reply, eyebrows drawn together in indignance, but he didn’t want them to fight. Instead, he turned the music back up, louder than it had been before, and shifted so that he was sitting with his back as turned to Geralt as possible. They spent the rest of the ride in tense silence. The songs on the radio were not always good, but Jaskier pretended they were; ‘Call Me Baby’ was still easier to listen to than the grinding of Geralt’s teeth as he bit back all the words he would never say. 

\--~-- 

Geralt told Jaskier to go wherever he wants, which, really, was probably a bad call on Geralt’s part. When given free range of the mall, Jaskier always chose the nicer stores first—who wouldn’t? He knew the mall layout as second nature by that point. He used to come here, to the Stonewood Shopping Center, every weekend. The double floors of seemingly endless shiny, trendy objects had been the adopted home to his clique of popular rich kids. They’d been mindless and insecure enough to have personalities entirely encapsulated by the new clothes and things they bought with their parents’ money; the easiest and fastest way to feel good about yourself was by drowning yourself in the latest trends until no unique personality could show through. 

Jaskier didn’t follow the latest trends, anymore. He had swung right around to steadfastly avoiding them, as he did all the rich and popular kids who wore them. That didn’t stop him, however, from enjoying shopping for pretty, attractive things. He led Geralt up the escalator and across the mall, past the sports equipment store, where he could feel Geralt slow down to look (as expected), and the book store, where Geralt did the same (less expected). 

“We can stop there if you want,” Jaskier said, pausing his mad dash to look back to his boyfriend where he’d begun to loiter outside the bookstore. Geralt was wearing ripped black jeans, which Jaskier adored. Jaskier wondered if Geralt had chosen the jeans for that reason. 

“No, I said you choose.” Geralt quickly caught up to Jaskier, but Jaskier made a mental note to stop in later. They were met promptly by the large, impressive glass windows in front of Jaskier’s favorite store. In each window, sassy looking mannequins were striking poses and showing off the colourful, tempting clothing Jaskier couldn't say no to. The store was marketed towards young adults, which was evident from the loud, club-style music pumping through it. Geralt, as Jaskier could tell, felt out of place as soon as he walked in. His shoulders slouched, and his eyes darted quickly around the store. Jaskier ran his hand down Geralt’s bicep in the hope of calming him, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. 

“You okay?” Jaskier asked quietly.

“Fine. Yeah. What do you want from here?” 

Jaskier strained his eyes to read Geralt’s face, looking for any sign—anything—that would let him in to whatever Geralt was thinking, but he found nothing. Just a blank expression on the face of the person he loved. He was worried, but he also really wanted to shop, so he continued into the store. Walking slowly, he maneuvered through the aisles with the fewest people down them, constantly listening for Geralt’s heavy footsteps behind him. He was caught off guard by a lovely violet t-shirt with embroidered flowers over the breast pocket. Smiling, Jaskier found his size from the rack and threw it over his arm. The first item of clothing was enough to get him immersed into shopping—he quickly forgot why he’d been holding back, and began to flit excitedly through the store. Somehow, Geralt managed to stay with him. They wound up standing outside of the changeroom half an hour later. 

“Oh, good, you found some clothes for yourself!” Jaskier said, surprised by the large pile of garments Geralt was carrying with both arms. “A lot, actually.” 

“Jaskier. These are your clothes.” 

“Oh.” The whole thing had quickly turned into a blur, but when he thought about it, Jaskier could remember at some point asking Geralt to carry something for him. And then something else. And them possibly a few more things. “Well thank you. You’re too sweet.” He took the clothes from Geralt, stacking the pile on top of the other clothes he already had in his own hands. “I’ll just be a few minutes.” 

Jaskier took another half hour to try the clothes on. He diligently showed Geralt each one, although Geralt hardly seemed to notice. He was looking in the right direction, eyes pointed at Jaskier, but there was nothing behind them. Geralt had disappeared off to wherever he went in his mind. 

“And I was thinking of pairing these two together, yeah?” Jaskier asked, stepping once more out of the dressing room. His boyfriend wasn’t the most fashionable person ever, but Jaskier knew that even Geralt couldn’t possibly think that the camo pants and pinstripe shirt would look good together. “What do you think?”

“Yep. Looks good,” Geralt said. He was stock still, seated on a little plush stool outside the dressing rooms. A group of teenage girls were swarming around him, talking loudly as they moved in and out of the changing area. Jaskier tapped his fingers against his leg a few times before spinning around and locking himself back in his dressing room. He hung the few clothes he had yet to try on up, and selected only a few to buy. With the ‘to buy’ clothes in tow, he led a visibly relieved Geralt towards the cash register. 'Geralt is more important than shopping,' Jaskier thought to himself. 'Geralt's happiness is more important than that pair of jeans that would have been- no.' Geralt was more important than shopping. 

The clothes came to $123.50. Jaskier was about to pull out his credit card when Geralt slapped two $100 bills onto the counter. 

“Geralt, wha-” 

“I’ve got it.” Was all Geralt gave by way of explanation. 

They found themselves passing by the food court, and the fresh bread smell from the pizza place was too inviting to pass up. Geralt bought them a pizza to share—using the change from the clothing store and refusing again to let Jaskier pay. The food court wasn’t very busy, probably because it was in between lunchtime and dinner time, and they had no trouble finding a table all to themselves. They ended up sitting underneath a large skylight, the high ceiling reaching all the way to the top of the second floor, even though the food court was on ground level. Jaskier tilted his head back to see if he could make out any clouds, but all he could see through the skylight was blinding white light. 

Geralt took his jacket off after he sat down, slinging it over the low back of his chair. His shirt underneath had short sleeves and a low neckline, giving Jaskier a view of a bright red line running from just under his right collar bone, over his chest, and finishing near the elbow of his left arm. The cut, which must not have been that deep, was just starting to heal. Jaskier lifted a finger to lightly run it over the fresh scar. 

“This one’s new,” he said, voice low and gentle, as if trying not to scare off an animal. This wasn’t the first time Jaskier had found Geralt with some sort of cut on his body. Geralt never gave any insight into how he’d been injured, but when asked, he was always quick to assure Jaskier that he wasn’t endangering himself recklessly, or being hurt at home. He was ‘always fine’. “How’d it happen?” Jaskier asked anyway, more out of habit than any real expectation for an answer. 

“Doesn’t matter. It didn’t hurt.” 

“I find that hard to believe.” Jaskier tugged a bit of Geralt’s shirt down, so that he could see the cut as it continued over his chest. “Between this and the wad of cash, Geralt, I don’t know what to think. I’m worried about you.” 

“I told you, I’m fine. The cash was from birthday money, and the cut from an accident while doing yard work.” Geralt pushed Jaskier back so that he let go of his shirt, and then crossed his arms over his chest, somewhat hiding the cut. “Don’t worry about me.” 

“I can’t help it,” Jaskier said. He took a bite of the pizza, but didn’t finish his slice. He didn’t really feel that hungry anymore. “Would you tell me if you needed help? If you were in trouble?”

“Yes,” Geralt answered too quickly. 

“I’m always here for you, love. I want to help.” 

Geralt didn’t say anything. For the second time that day, they sat together in tense silence. 

\--~--

Jaskier still had his parents’ contacts in his phone, mainly just because he’d never bothered to delete them. The last time his father had texted him had been three years ago—some routine text, when he’d still picked Jaskier up every day after school. The last time he’d heard from his mom had been Christmas. With the track record between him and his parents, and the abrupt, careless way they’d forced him out of the house, Jaskier often found himself questioning why they still bothered to send him a very reliable stream of money. It was never a question he brought up, though. He didn’t want his parents to think too hard about it and come up with a reason to stop.

Every two weeks, his bank account would bounce back up. That was the only contact he kept with his parents: the only way he really knew that they were still alive. And he was good with that.

In an empty corner of the book store, Jaskier drew his phone from his pocket. It had vibrated with a text, and he was expecting something from Yennefer, or his brother, or maybe an Instagram notification. He froze when he read his father’s name. Jaskier bobbed onto his tiptoes to look over the bookshelves, locating Geralt’s bright hair easily where he stood on the other side of the store. He appeared to be reading from two different books at the same time. Satisfied that Geralt seemed preoccupied, Jaskier sat himself down on the floor, out of the way and mostly hidden. He crossed his legs, placing his bag of new clothes into his lap, and racked a shaky breath in through pursed lips. Quickly, like tearing off a band aid, Jaskier opened the notification. 

His phone brought him to the messenger app, where the new text from his father stood out clear as day. It wasn’t a difficult or particularly long message, but Jaskier still had to read it over three, four times before it sunk into his brain. Once it did, and once he’d had a moment to read into the implications, Jaskier had to force himself to keep his breathing normal. Slowly, in through the nose, out through the mouth. The phone went dark in his hand, and he let it. The message had already burned itself into his brain: he was expected at his parents’ house for dinner the next night. He was to bring his ‘partner’, which was as close as his father got to mentioning Jaskier’s sexuality. 

Geralt found him sooner than Jaskier had been expecting, and as such he hadn’t had time to pull himself together. He tried to smile when he saw Geralt nonetheless. He craned his neck to look at Geralt in the face, and stretched his mouth into a wide grin that he knew didn’t reach anywhere close to his eyes. Geralt pursed his lips, as if unsure, then dropped onto the floor next to Jaskier. His legs were long and didn’t easily fit underneath him, so he ended up sitting with them stretched out in front of him, blocking the entire aisle. He had been carrying three thick novels, which he now placed to the side. 

“If you were any more stressed right now, I think I’d be able to smell it on you.” 

“Am I ever completely relaxed?” Jaskier asked, following it with an empty chuckle. Geralt looked at him with his eyebrows ever so slightly quirked with concern. Apparently, he hadn't found Jaskier’s half-joke all that funny. Jaskier unlocked his phone and placed it on Geralt’s lap, letting him read the message for himself. “My parents want me to go over there tomorrow.” 

“Oh.” Geralt’s eyes scanned quickly over text. “And they want… me to come?” 

“I don’t- Yeah, it looks like it. I really don’t know why. Would you be comfortable with that?” 

Geralt returned Jaskier’s phone, then tentatively took Jaskier’s hand from where it had been resting on his knee, and interlaced the fingers. Jaskier’s fingers were slender, but they weren’t delicate. Geralt seemed to think they were—he held their hands together loosely, as if the faintest of wind would separate them again. 

“They’re your parents, Jask. What would make you comfortable?” 

“Never stepping foot in that house again,” Jaskier mumbled. Geralt rubber his thumb against the back of Jaskier’s hand, coaxing out the rest of his answer: “But that’s not an option. Not really. I’ll just- I lived with them for over sixteen years. I can survive one more night.” 

Geralt stood, using their joined hands to pull Jaskier up with him. He positioned himself directly in front of Jaskier, so that they could look each other in the eyes. “We’ll survive it together,” he said. He gave Jaskier’s hand a gentle squeeze, before bending to pick up his books and Jaskier’s bag which had been left on the floor. 

“We’ll survive it together,” Jaskier repeated softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in next time for dinner at the parents' place. 
> 
> Comments make me the happiest person in the world. Love you guys!


	7. Jaskier and the Broken Vial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for homophobia, a slur, and altogether not great parenting.

The first thing he noticed was the cutlery. There was so much of it, and the exact same at every place. For meals at his brother’s house, they usually had some sort of takeout that everybody ate at different times and in different places. If more than one person did decide to sit down and eat together, they wouldn’t be using matching cutlery arranged in rows on either side of a porcelain plate. Somehow, at some point, this perfect setup had been commonplace to Jaskier—spoons and forks with a specific order, white china dishes that all matched spread across a cherry wood table, and a grey haired man and a bleached-blonde woman sitting across from each other, eating in tense silence. Perhaps the silence hadn’t always been this uncomfortable. Probably it had. 

Geralt had been put beside him, and Jaskier couldn’t decide if this was a surprising act of kindness, or another example of how his parents failed to accept them as a real couple. The woman and the man in the relationship were usually seated across from each other. Either way, Jaskier was glad for it. Geralt’s soft breaths and familiar scent helped ground him, gave him something comforting to focus on. Geralt had been overly polite during introductions, and since, as if to counteract it, hadn’t said a single world. He ate with his head bowed, eyes trained on the table and nothing else. Jaskier wanted badly to touch him—run his hand along his thigh, or push his hair behind his ear—but he held back. Not here, not now. 

Any act outside of what his parents deemed ‘normal’ was a no go. When he’d been nine, and yet to understand that there was anything wrong with boys liking other boys, he’d found Matt. Their relationship had been pure, and naive; other than some hand holding, it was practically no different from a friendship. The whole time he was young, Jaskier had watched as his brother would come home with various girls--he saw them cuddle up on the couch together, and kiss sweetly each time one of them left. Jaskier thought it looked simply amazing, having someone who wanted you like that, and he was so excited to try it for himself. Matt, with his dimples and big blue eyes, would sit beside Jaskier on the bus every day. They’d smush their legs together and rest their heads on each other's shoulders, obsessed with touch and contact. They both liked Lego. They both wanted to learn how to sing. 

Jaskier had brought Matt home just two weeks into their relationship. He’d been so proud to have found a boyfriend, to finally have what he'd watched his brother have. For some reason, though, his parents hadn’t seen much of a similarity. When Jaskier had introduced Matt as his boyfriend, his mother had broken a vase, and his father had yelled his throat raw. Jaskier, without understanding what, knew that he’d done something wrong. He’d pulled Matt away, persuading him out the door, and had promised that they’d see each other the next day. Jaskier never let Matt visit again, and for a while, he didn’t bring anyone home at all. His parents dismissed the event as a childhood phase: ‘He’s just confused; he had no idea what he was saying.’

Despite his parents’ wishes, he never did grow out of his attraction to boys. He did, however, learn how to hide it. At home, he couldn’t do anything flamboyant, or wear anything feminine. He used incognito tabs and deleted his browser history. He kept his relationships private. He’d lived like that for as long as he could, until the secrets and half-truths carved too big a hole into his heart that he had to come out. They hadn’t known what bisexual meant at first. They hadn’t liked it once he’d told them. 

Jaskier had moved out the next day. 

And coming back now made everything hurt anew. Out in the world, Jaskier tried his best to be a new person—more happy and himself. He didn’t have to hide anymore, or at least, he hadn’t for a while. Back here, sitting at his old place at the table, he could feel himself closing in again. He was his empty bedroom walls, his carefully locked phone, his desperately private pastimes. He was, once more, himself only on the inside. He hated it, and he knew that Geralt could feel it too, the overwhelming oppressiveness that flooded the house and pushed down every part of you that was at all different. 

Jaskier pulled at his sleeves, which were once more at his wrists. He took another small bite of his dinner. The sound of chewing surrounded him. The food was good, fine. No, he didn’t want seconds of anything, thank you. Yes, Geralt was fine. Yes, of course he could talk; he talked to you just earlier. Jaskier stayed as polite as he could manage. He waited for the other shoe to drop. He waited all through dinner, and through dessert as well. He waited so long that he began to think maybe, somehow, it wasn’t coming. Maybe his parents did really just want to have dinner with them. 

But then his dad stood up, his chair scraping back with the sound of nails on a chalkboard. The hairs on the back of Jaskier’s neck stood up. Geralt finally looked away from his plate. 

“Julian,” Mr.Pankratz said, “have you enjoyed dinner? Your mom worked very hard on it.” 

“Yes, I did. Thank you.” 

“Good.” Jaskier’s father sat down once more, and pushed his plate away so that he could rest his hands on the table. “Are you on track to graduate high school in June?”

“Yes, Dad. Of course.” Jaskier had a report card downloaded on his phone, probably. If his father wanted to see his grades, make sure they were good enough, that could be ok. 

“And you are nineteen now.” 

“Yep,” said Jaskier, popping the ‘p’. Nice of his parents to miss his birthday completely, though.

His father nodded, before saying, “Once you graduate high school, we are terminating your financial assistance. You will be cut off from the family, until-” 

No, no no no. Cut him off? He wouldn’t be able to continue without the monetary support from his parents. He wouldn’t be able to pay to go to ballet lessons, or to fund university by himself. He’d never even had a real job before. He wouldn’t make it on his own. And it wasn’t fair, because his brother- Suddenly, it was Jaskier who was pushing out of his chair with a screech. He hit his palms against the table, causing his fork to teeter on his plate and fall, with a small clink, to the floor. “Excuse me?” He hissed. “I know for a fact that you still pay for Jake’s apartment, and send him a sizable check each month so that he can go on banging his girl of the hour. You can’t cut me off!” 

“You didn’t let me finish, Julian,” his father said with a smile. His voice was calm and oversweet as he finished: “I was saying, you will be cut off until you admit that this-” he motioned between Geralt and Jaskier, “this thing is just a phase. Once you realize that you are meant to be with a woman, and only with a woman, you will be returned to your rightful place in the family.” 

“Rightful place in the- fuck you. Fuck you. Kicking me out of the house wasn’t enough for you? You have to go and write me out of the entire family too? What’s your say in this, Mom? Huh?” Jaskier swiveled his head towards his mother, but she didn’t acknowledge him. She picked up her fork and knife, and repositioned them just so in the centre of her plate. “Oh fantastic. No say, then,” Jaskier continued, “Just like always, I’m the only fucking one who cares about me.” He ran out of anger quite abruptly, the fear and indignance that had been boiling his blood quickly turning into a numb, desperate fear. When he spoke once more, his voice was softer, and it wavered with sadness. “I’m the only one who really cares about me,” he said, speaking moreso to himself. 

Jaskier stepped away from the table, legs hitting something behind him. His chair fell over, landing on its finely polished wooden back with a bang; he stumbled over it, began to cry, and raced from the table. No one called for him to return. Neither of his parents tried to sooth him by yelling out, ‘We love you. We care for you. We support you.’ But then again, they never had.

He found himself running into the garden, legs having carried him down the winding staircase and right out through the heavy front door. The night had just begun to creep out from beneath the day: dark greens and greys mixed with black shadows all throughout the expansive garden. Tall laurel bushes, thorned rose hips, and box-shaped yew trees stood against the light breeze, leaves swaying and turning into the wind. Beneath a fir tree on the edge of the garden, Jaskier kneeled down, lungs hitting up against his knees as he took shaky deep breaths. Clammy hands wiped uselessly against tear-streaked cheeks until his whole face felt like a slimy mess. 

“Fuck!” He said. Then he repeated it a few more times, and hit his fist into the grass for good measure. “This isn’t supposed to be me anymore!” He said to the garden. The plants listened to him, and they felt his pain. They were sorry for him, so sorry. When his knees began to hurt, Jaskier sat the whole way dawn, hardly noticing the cold, damp ground and the way that it began to chill him. He let his head lull back against the tree trunk. He leaned forward again, then threw his head backwards so that it hit the tree trunk hard enough to leave a bruise. It hurt—it hurt enough to make him forget, for a split second about everything else. He leaned forward, and with even a bit more force, threw his head back once more, but this time instead of hitting the tree it hit something blunt and soft. He looked up without moving his head, and could make out the form of someone standing beside him. Someone who had used their hand to stop his head from hitting the tree.

“You’re ruining my fun.” 

“Why are you trying to hurt yourself?” Geralt’s voice was pained, but gentle.

Jaskier was taken aback at that. He hadn’t been hurting himself, that made it sound like he was mentally ill. He’d just been hitting his head against a tree a few times to forget about the world around him. He told Geralt as such. 

“Jaskier…” Geralt scooped Jaskier up in his arms, and brought him to a little bench in the centre of the garden. Jaskier fought against the hug/wrestling hold Geralt had him in, but couldn’t pull himself away. Once on the bench, he drew himself into a ball. Geralt had swung one leg over the bench so that he could stradle it, and was looking carefully at Jaskier, which made him feel exposed. He knew what he must look like right now—surely it wasn’t anything that Geralt wanted to see, all tear streaked and pitiful. He slid off the bench to sit once more on the ground, leaning back against the bench. 

“Are you- I’m so sorry, Jaskier. What… How can I-” Geralt stumbled over his words. “Are you in pain?” The question, although not what most people would have settled on, made sense. Geralt had always been better at understanding physical injuries than emotions. 

“My back hurts a bit from where the bench is pushing against it,” Jaskier offered. Hardly a second after the words left his mouth, he could feel Geralt moving on the bench. He slid over to sit behind Jaskier, both feet on the ground behind him. Jaskier was pushed forward with oh-so-cautious fingers, then returned so that his back was resting against the front of Geralt’s legs. 

“Better?” 

“Uh huh.” Jaskier’s head was just the right height to tip back between Geralt’s knees. He was sitting on cold dirt and his face itched from dried tears, and yet he was comfortable. Geralt dragged a few fingers through Jaskier’s short hair. The plants watched. They were thankful for Geralt. They were hopeful that Jaskier would be ok. They shook their leaves in the soft wind, and tried to send their hopeful energy to him through the air. In a pond or stream not too far away, a crowd of frogs called out into the twilight. Jaskier, when the crying had fully stopped and his breaths were even once more, began to hum. 

“Bit of a shit show in there, huh?” He asked between notes. He was humming a pop song that had topped the charts briefly a few years ago before being quite completely forgotten. 

“Hmm,” Geralt answered. His hand stilled in Jaskier’s hair, and Jaskier could sense that Geralt wanted to say more, but wasn’t sure how to put it. 

“I’m okay, though,” he said quickly, before Geralt could speak. “I mean, not much has changed. I’ll just—hahaha—I’ll just have to stop buying things.” 

“Do you want to stop seeing me?” Geralt’s question froze Jaskier in his tracks. 

“No, obviously not. Why-”

“Then you wouldn’t have to give up your family.”

“No. No! We will not let them win. They aren’t in the right, here. I-” Jaskier stood, turning sharply to face Geralt. “I want to be with you. You are most important to me--so much more important than money. I can get money anyways, I’ll just get a job, uh…” He racked his brain to try and think of a job that someone with only a high school education could get which didn’t sound absolutely mind numbing. The tip of Geralt’s still-red cut poking out from his shirt gave Jaskier an idea. “I’ll just go with you! Come on Geralt, I know you get money somehow. I’ll help you, next time! We can be like Bonnie and Clyde!” 

“Don't even say that. No, absolutely not.”

“Oh come on, Ger Ger. I just want to have a little bit of fun. My family just disowned me.”

“No, you need to stay safe. It’s too dangerous, I- I won’t let you get hurt. Fuck, Jaskier, you...Forget whatever it is that you think I do, because it doesn't matter. Stop bringing it up; you’ve never wanted to join it before. I don’t know if I can trust you not to do something reckless right now.” Geralt was standing now, their chests close together. 

“Oh that’s some hypocrisy if I’ve ever heard any. Why is everything so dangerous for me?” Jaskier asked loudly.

“Because you don't know how to protect yourself!” Gerald said it without thinking, on instinct, and as soon as he did Jaskier could see that he wanted to take it back. His eyes opened wide and he reached for Jaskier, but Jaskier had already stepped away. He wrapped his arms protectively around himself as the tears threatened to start again. 

“Oh, so that’s it, then? My parents think I’m a worthless fucking fag, and to you I’m this poor weak thing that can’t be trusted to look after himself? Leave, Geralt. I’ll drive myself home.” 

They stood in a silent standoff, Jaskier fighting the tears away, and Geralt unsubtly gnawing at the inside of his mouth with worry. Finally, Geralt turned and walked himself out of the garden, presumably towards the driveway. Jaskier tracked him in the darkness until he’d completely disappeared. He hadn’t really expected Geralt to leave him. 

Jaskier’s sock feet could feel every pebble and twig that he stepped on as he drudged a lap of the garden. He thought about touch, and what it would feel like to be hugged right then. He found himself returning to the fir tree, leaning his full body into it so that he could feel the rough bark through his clothes. What would it be like to be loved, he wondered. To be loved in a way that never left you sad and alone, stranded in a garden and constantly having to bite away the tears that stubbornly won’t leave. Perhaps it would feel complete, like fitting two puzzle pieces together. He imagined that it would warm you from the inside out, as if you had swallowed the sun. It would feel soft and protective and—oh—probably rather like that. 

Something fluffy and pleasantly heavy had fallen over his shoulders. Jaskier swayed away from the tree, pulling the thing all the way around himself. It was a blanket, one of the nice, silky ones that his parents kept in the closet for some special day that would never come. 

“You came back,” said Jaskier, only slightly surprised when his voice cracked half way through. 

“We’re surviving together, remember?” Geralt was shining his phone light at the ground, and it reflected oddly on his face. Still, Jaskier could see that he was trying his best to smile—a small uneven thing which looked more like a grimace—and that his eyes were clouded with something that looked similar to concern. Jaskier noticed it when his own jaw unclenched, and his shoulders relaxed. He basked in the delight that filled him; Geralt hadn’t left him after all.

“My parents are gonna hate it that you took this blanket outside,” Jaskier said happily.

“Oh, should I have-”

“It’s perfect, Fuck them. Did you see them when you were inside?”

Geralt shook his head. “They weren’t around. I would have told them that the food was bland.” He adjusted the blanket around Jaskier’s shoulders, pulling it so that it was even. “I brought you something else, but I don’t know…” Geralt withdrew from his pocket three vials of nail polish. “I thought, maybe…” 

“Like an act of rebellion?” Jaskier felt life returning to him. “Oh, Geralt, yes!” He stretched his hands out, palms down. 

“I don’t know how.” 

“Doesn’t matter. Just put the paint on the nails. The rest will sort itself out.” Jaskier said, and they both laughed. It was a messy, unorganized thing. Geralt dropped his phone, and each of the nail polishes at one point or another, and managed to get paint nearly everywhere. Jaskier laughed the hardest when Geralt leaned forward and got paint on the tips of his hair. Geralt thought it was too hard to get paint on just the nails, so Jaskier ended up with the ends of his fingers all colourful too. It was hard to see everything in the dark, and Jaskier wasn’t completely sure what he’d find in the light of the morning, but he found himself too giddy to care. Jaskier snatched the blue paint, at one point, and even managed to get a streak of it onto one of Geralt’s fingernails. 

They finished dramatically by throwing the vials of nail polish at the side of the house. Glass containers shattered magnificently, sending splatters of paint everywhere and leaving the wall just as glorious as a Jackson Pollock masterpiece. Jaskier whooped with delight, and grabbed Geralt’s hand to swing it up. They made their escape into the night still holding hands, wrestling uncoordinated into Geralt’s car, racing, tires screeching, away, away, away. The garden was excited for them, proud of them. It was sad, too, because it knew that it would never see Jaskier again. The leaves waved one final goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of the more important chapters for Jaskier's character, and I would love to hear what you thought. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. Stay well xx


	8. Jaskier and the Speed Dial

Stores had rooms for only employees to go in, which made sense—of course they did. Except that Jaskier had never considered that before. The people who took his order at the to-go sushi place by the school that they could easily drive to during lunch break, or the teenagers who bagged his groceries on the off chance that he stepped into a grocery store (for a bag of chips and a soda, usually), they were real people, obviously. But the reality that they would need somewhere to go on breaks, or that they would even take breaks, hadn’t really occurred to him. 

His parents, or, he supposed, his ex-parents, both worked fancy downtown jobs where they had their own offices and nobody off the street could just get in the building. Jaskier had come to roughly understand that line of work: you drank coffee brought to you by your assistant, had ‘important’ phone calls every half hour, and took your lunch whenever you wanted. You had a big window looking out over the city from up high. You got bonuses at christmas, and complained to anyone who would listen about taxes. Life was dress shirts and files with technically written papers and not really smiling ever. 

This was different. 

The room around Jaskier was made up of grey walls with some questionable stains. He shifted uncomfortably in the little plastic chair they had given him, trying not to imagine what in the world would have left a muddy green mark across the top corner of a staff room wall. It looked almost like a smudged shoe print, as if someone had one day decided to take off their shoe and chuck it as hard as they could. That would be quite a way to make an exit, he supposed. Other than the stains, the room was incredibly plain; the only thing that could maybe be passed for decoration was a poster above the door frame, reminding everyone of the plan should there be a fire. The image just made Jaskier more confused, though. Especially if caught in the stress of an actual fire, there was no way that he’d be able to follow the squiggly lines on the two-toned map to safety. 

He tapped his painted fingernails against the wall beside him, and wondered why the interview was taking so long to get started. Was it common practice to leave the interviewee alone in a room for a while before joining them? Maybe it was some sort of test, to see how patient he was, or how well he could handle boredom. No matter how much he wanted to, Jaskier held himself back from looking at his phone. He knew that with his luck he’d have just pulled it out as the lady walked in to interview him, and what kind of first impression would that make? Not one he wanted, surely. 

As far as first impressions go, Jaskier was hoping to come off as confident and cheerful. He’d worn a light blue button up over dress pants, which Yennefer had laughed at, because ‘It’s just an interview at a flower shop, Jaskier; this isn’t your internship at the UN’. Jaskier had never had an internship at the UN, nor did he think he’d be qualified. He did know how to dress himself though, thank you very much. He’d be fine with ‘overdressed’ as a part of his first impression—maybe it would do him good to have something a little extra that they could focus on to make up for the fact that his resume was practically empty. They were going to look one look at the half-assed list of his few accomplishments, and see right through it. They’d know had he was just a spoiled rich kid, and that he didn’t belong here. That he didn’t belong anywhere, now. 

It smelled like damp rags in the room, and Jaskier could only imagine that with no open doors or windows he’d already breathed in and out all the fresh air the room had to offer. He stuck one finger under the collar of his shirt, pulling it away from his neck, and took a few deep breaths like that. The skin under his finger felt hot, and his cheeks were probably getting some colour to them as well. He needed fresh air—needed it bad. The window on the other side of the room was hardly bigger than a dinner plate. Regardless, he dove towards it, fiddling with the lock and the blinds until he’d manage to crack it open. He pushed his nose into the window screen, greedily breathing in the (only slightly) fresher air. Through the window was a dark little alleyway, with puddles covering the uneven ground. Musty brick smell, decidedly, was still better than stuffy staff room air. He put a hand on the glass of the window, splayed it so that his fingers were touching as much of the cool surface as possible, and sucked in another deep breath of outside air. 

“Ahem. Julian, I presume,”

“Yea- ow. Yes!” Jaskier rubbed at his chin where he’d smacked it against the window in his haste to straighten up, timidly regarded the woman. So much for a good first impression. “Please, um, please call me Jaskier, though.” They shook hands, and both took a seat, Jaskier back in his wobbly plastic chair and she in an only slightly nicer one across from him. 

“Alright, Jaskier. My name’s Ellie, and I’m the store supervisor. I have some questions to ask you today, but think of it more as a conversation than an interview, okay? I would just like to get to know you.” 

“Sounds good,” said Jaskier, trying his best to give her a bright smile. 

“Perfect. Let’s get started.” Ellie shuffled a pile of papers that she’d sat on her lap, ducking her head to read one. She didn’t look much older than Jaskier, maybe only by two or three years, and her hair was dyed pink at the ends. Jaskier had always envied people who dyed their hair colours like that—he’d never had enough dedication to do so himself. If he were to dye his hair, Jaskier supposed, he would start off with nothing but a darker brown, just to get more comfortable with it. That way, as well, if he didn’t have the patience to touch up the roots, it wouldn’t be too noticeable. He wondered what Geralt would say. 

“Oh yes, let’s start off with this one,” Ellie started, pulling Jaskier back to the present. She produced a pencil from behind her ear and positioned it over the paper, ready for Jaskier’s answer. “Why is it that you would like to work at Belzie Bloom Florists?” 

The truth, that he needed a quick way to make a buck, really wasn’t going to work for him here. “Um…” Jaskier said, frantically searching for words—-even just halfway decent words—to answer the question. “Uh...I-” He looked sideways as he thought, as if the words would be hiding from him on the other side of the room. “I’m good with… with colours,” he said slowly, hardly paying any attention. There had been a flash of white outside of the window, and Jaskier squinted, trying to see it again. 

Ellie replied in a tone that sounded less than impressed, before scratching something down onto her paper. Nothing else had passed by the window, and Jaskier had to think that maybe he’d just been making it up. He sat straight once more in the chair, determined to look Ellie in the eyes. 

“And do…” She ran her finger down the page. “Do you have any prior experience working for a florist shop?” 

“No I don’t, however, I-” Jaskier had been going somewhere impressive with that sentence—he had been about to assure her that he did have relevant experience somewhere else in his life, yes, he’d be so perfect here, but then his eye caught movement once more outside of the window. It was that flash of white again, like long white hair. His sentence tapered off, and he turned completely in his chair, all but forgetting Ellie and the interview. 

“Is there something wrong, Jaskier? If you’re finding the window to distracting, we can close-”

“No! Sorry, but I-” He jumped from his chair, once more pressing his face to the window. This time, he trained his eyes across the alleyway and on the small, looming group of people. They seemed to be talking amongst themselves in a fashion that reminded Jaskier of a huddle before a football game. Although it was impossible to make out their faces, one of the people in the group stood taller than the others, and he had white hair down to his shoulders. There was no way it could be anyone else. Jaskier ignored Ellie’s calling him, hardly even hearing it, as he watched the group split apart. They nodded amongst themselves, then flipped on their hoods or pulled masks over their faces. The hair on the back of Jaskier’s neck stood up. With the shattering of breaking glass as one of them punched through the window of the building across the alleyway, Jaskier ran from the interview. He shouted his apologies over his shoulder. 

By the time Jaskier had found his way out of the flower shop and reoriented himself on the road, the alleyway was empty. All of his brain was telling him to run far far away from the scary looking group of criminals, but his heart was too curious, too worried. If one of them hadn’t been Geralt, then Jaskier was walking towards a possibly harmful situation for no reason, but if one of them had been Geralt, like his heart was telling him, then he had to figure out what was going on. 

He tried his best to walk around the puddles, stepping on the bricks that popped higher from the road. All of the buildings looked the same, and there was more than one broken window, which made it harder than he’d expected to find where the men had gone. He paused, listening for the sound of something breaking, or, although he hoped he wouldn’t hear it, screaming, gunshots. 

“Geralt?” He called out timidly. Geralt had told him that he’d be out while Jaskier had his interview, and to call when he’d finished. The interview, for obvious reasons, hadn’t gone as long as they’d expected, but perhaps... Jaskier dialed Geralt’s number into his phone with shaky fingers, hoping hoping hoping that Geralt would pick up, say that he was out driving, or at the library, anywhere but here. Then Jaskier would run away from the sketchy alleyway, and he’d wait back on the main road for Geralt to pick him up, and they’d both laugh about it over some loud radio music. But the phone rang and rang, and no one picked up. 

Jaskier pressed his face hesitantly into every window, training his eyes for the smallest trace of movement. He shivered when a gust of wind whipped between the buildings, ruffling loose newspaper pages along the road. He called out for Geralt at each window, but couldn’t bring himself to use anything louder than a whisper. He was uncomfortable, and every little sound made him flinch with fear. He stayed in the alleyway for as long as his bravery could muster, but sprinted away from it after he’d given up. 

Geralt wasn’t answering, and Jaskier had so much that he wanted to talk about, but no one to say it to. He paced the main road, regretting not driving his car to the interview. There was nobody else to call—Yennefer was away, Amy didn’t deserve to be dragged into this mess, and his parents were out of the question. Jaskier didn’t really have any other friends anymore. He’d given up a huge group all for one person, and had been quite happy to do so, but it was moments like this that made him miss having an infinite supply of backup options. 

He stared blankly at his contacts page, debating the only number he saw as a viable option. He hadn’t wanted to put this number into his phone, and even just the act of doing so (while sitting on his bedroom floor, one shaky hand gripping a crumpled sticky note, too tired and out of it to stop himself), he had felt wrong. People in relationships can make new friends, right? It’s not important whether or not you feel some foreign attraction to said new friend. It’s not like Jaskier would act on it. His half-thought out excuse stayed as lame as any other, but if he was already lying to himself, then what was one step more? He would burst if he didn’t get to talk to someone. He clicked on his newest phone contact (Dark Angel), and let it dial. 

\--~-- 

“Thanks for meeting me here on such short notice,” Jaskier said. He lifted a mug of steaming hot chocolate to his face, and took a long sip. Nothing like a warm, sugary drink to quell your anxieties. He didn’t care what time of the year it was—hot drinks were always better than cold drinks, and this seemed to be a lovely spot to buy hot drinks indeed. The round mug in his hands was decorated with the emblem of Fox and Hen’s—a cottage-like coffee shop where they had decided to meet up. 

“It’s my pleasure. I’ve been hoping you’d call me.” Across from Jaskier, dressed once more in a very appetizing all-black outfit, sat the boy from the bus. His real name, Jaskier realized, was still a mystery. As if following along inside Jaskier’s mind, the boy continued, “My name’s Kenji.” 

“That’s a pretty name,” said Jaskier, catching himself off guard. Smooth one, Jaskier; keeping it real casual. 

“Thank you,” Kenji said with a soft chuckle. “And, just because this seems like maybe your first time meeting someone, what should I call you?” 

“Oh, yeah, um- Jaskier. I’m Jaskier.” He could feel his cheeks grow warm. 

“Nice to meet you properly.” Kenji lifted his own mug to his lips, but didn't take a sip. Instead, he found Jaskier’s eyes and held the gaze, a playful sort of energy radiating from him. Jaskier got caught up in the moment, so entranced by Kenji’s deep brown eyes that he didn’t notice right away as he tipped his mug a little too far and spilled hot chocolate everywhere but his mouth. 

“Oh, crap!” Jaskier exclaimed, standing up and assessing the damage. His entire lap was wet and hot. “Well, there go my nice dress pants.” He wiped his palms against his legs as if it would make a difference, and internally cursed himself for being such a klutz. He had no idea how he’d buy another pair of dress pants to go to an interview without having a job to get money to buy the pants—stuck in a catch-22. 

“Whoa there!” Kenji laughed, “It’s supposed to go in your mouth, I think.”

“Yeah, really? Ugh, sorry I don’t… I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I guess I’m a little on edge.” 

“Hey, no worries. And it doesn’t bother me any, but I think I have a spare pair of pants if you want to borrow them.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t-” 

“I insist.” Kenji had brought with him a black Jansport backpack, and he’d extracted from it a coil of dark blue that he now pushed towards Jaskier. “Here, put these on. You can get them back to me whenever.” 

Jaskier knocked his fist against his thigh, deliberating, and finally took the pants from Kenji. He retraced his steps back towards the coffee shop door, took a sharp turn into a tiny hallway, and was faced with walls covered in quaint, framed photos of apple orchards and carved wooden benches. The coffee shop screamed ‘Grandmothers’ book club’, and Jaskier was extremely pleased that Kenji had chosen to take him here. When he’d seen the boy on the bus, Jaskier would have pegged him for more of a dimly-lit bar kind of guy; the reality was delightful. Geralt was scary on the outside and soft on the inside; Kenji was broody on the outside and cheery on the inside; Jaskier seemed to be the only one who looked the same inside and out, never able to present anything except for the exact truth. 

Inside the single-stalled bathroom, surrounded with yet more framed sepia photographs and an oval mirror, Jaskier stripped off his soggy dress pants. He unfurled Kenji’s pants with a flick of his wrist, hardly even bothering to take a look before putting them on. The pants stretched tight around his thighs and calves, and they finished off with a thick waistband that encircled just below his hip bones. They felt like joggers, but they looked nearly as presentable as his dress pants pre-hot chocolate fiasco. He has to find out what kind of pants these are, because gosh darn, he doesn’t ever want to wear anything else. 

Jaskier told Kenji as much as he slid back into his seat, and demanded to know which store they came from. For something to do with his hands, Jaskier slid them around the side of his mug. His fingers tingle with warmth, and he looks down to find that, miraculously, his mug seemed to have replenished itself with hot chocolate. 

“Oh, you like them? They’re just from a store in the mall, I think.” 

“They’re so comfortable it feels like some sort of magic trick. Thanks again, by the way. It worked out well that we seem to wear the same size—I’m never able to borrow my boyfriend’s pants because-” Jaskier cut himself off, unsure if breaching that topic was where he wanted to go right now. He looked towards Kenji for approval. 

Kenji didn’t seem to catch Jaskier’s hesitation. “Yeah I totally get it. I dated a girl once who only wanted to wear my sweaters, but they were so much bigger than her that it looked nothing short of ridiculous.” 

“Oh, so you-” Jaskier, perhaps, had very badly mistaken the situation. Not that he’d thought this was, like, a date or anything, but usually his instincts were better than that. He’d known Geralt was into guys before Geralt himself even realized it. 

“I go both ways,” Kenji said. He smiled, but the eyes that met Jaskier’s from underneath thick eyelashes were cold, as if Kenji anticipated backlash. “Not that that’s really any of your business.”

Jaskier could tell that Kenji had put his walls up, and he worked quickly to win him back. “No, of course not, but I- I do, too. It’s nice, to be with someone else.”

Kenji’s smile has returned to a genuine thing, like the sun passing from behind a cloud. “Yeah, it is.” He paused to check his watch—large, sparkly black face with roman numerals for numbers—before continuing. “Where is he now, then, your boyfriend?” 

“He said.. I don’t know, to be honest. He didn’t answer his phone when I called him.”

“So you called me?”

“Uh-”

“Just kidding, pal,” Kenji said, slapping his hand on top of Jaskier’s, which rested face down on the table. “I assumed I was your second choice. Like I said, just happy you decided to call.” 

“Thanks,” Jaskier mumbled, jaw locked. His focus has been directed entirely at Kenji’s cool, soft hand on top of his. Kenji scratched his fingernails lightly against the back of Jaskier’s hand once, twice before pulling away. Jaskier felt like he’d had an ice bucket of water dumped over his head, and he didn’t know what to do about it. Things like this… weren’t supposed to happen. He had Geralt, whom he’d wanted for so long. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way, like there was an electric pull, to anyone else. He snatched his hand off the table, and pressed it against his chest, where it vibrated with the quick beats of his heart. 

“I had an interview today.” The words tumbled quickly from Jaskier’s mouth, squishing into each other. He’d had to say something, anything, to stop his self-destructive train of thought. 

“Like, a job interview? So that’s what’s with the button up. How’d it go, then?”

“Not so good, actually. And it sucks, because I really needed the job. My parents are cutting me off.” Jaskier wasn’t sure what exactly it was about Kenji that made him feel comfortable to spill everything, but there he went anyway. He had to tell someone, and Geralt hadn't picked up the damn phone. 

“Hey man that sucks, I’m so sorry.” Kenji really did look quite apologetic. “You know what, though—they’re hiring at the grocery store where I work. I’m sure I could get you in. I’m pretty much their star cashier.” 

“That’d be great.” Jaskier’s mouth opened into an easy smile. “Just tell me what I need to do.” 

For over an hour, their conversation continued to come easily. Jaskier’s cheeks began to ache from how much he'd been smiling. He drank the rest of his mug without spilling even a drop, and if he said some things he shouldn't have, that was a worry for another time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kenji: *calls Jaskier 'Pal' and lightly touches his hand*
> 
> Jaskier: *intense internal crisis* 
> 
> We love our unstable faves. If there was anything else in this chapter that you loved (or would like to give constructive criticism to), I'd be happy to hear it!
> 
> Wishing you the best xx


	9. Jaskier and the End of it All

When his phone rang, Jaskier could have cried with relief. It gave him the perfect excuse to duck off of their running trail: an ocean side route that could have been the stock photo for ‘idyllic morning jog’, but which was also definitely too long for Jaskier to run this quickly even once, not to mention the three laps Geralt seemed set on. Jaskier tolerated exercise in that he liked his toned muscles from ballet, and the flexibility that allowed him to lift a leg nearly above his head. The sweaty, red-faced activity of jogging was a horror that he had quickly realized he would much rather live without. 

Why was Jaskier here, then? Geralt had a mandatory cardio requirement to meet for his football team, and Jaskier had agreed to accompany him, half in the hopes that between the labored breathing and constant footfalls he’d be able to bring up the scene he’d witnessed in the alleyway just a couple days prior. He’d yet to figure out a good way to breach the topic that didn’t make it sound like he was accusing his boyfriend of being a criminal (which, he guessed, he was. He hoped to God that he was wrong, and that he hadn’t, as he was currently assuming, seen a gang of hooded robbers breaking and entering. A group which included Geralt). 

The secretive boy in question was currently keeping not uncharacteristically quiet. Geralt, much more practiced in the art of running, maintained a steadily growing lead on Jaskier. At first Jaskier had tried to match his pace, and Geralt had tried to go easy, but they had both quickly realized that that arrangement wasn’t making either of them happy. Jaskier bopped about in the back, still jogging but not with as much excitement or energy as he’d hoped. He sang along to a song in his head, in a desperate attempt to forget the constant screaming of all his muscles. And then the phone, which he’d stuffed into the waistband of his shorts, started ringing. 

“Saved by the bell,” Jaskier mumbled to himself, slowing to a walk as he fished the phone out of his pants. The call was from Amy, which was unusual, as there weren’t any dance classes or competitions currently on the go. “Hello?” He tried his best not to sound as out of breath as he was. 

“Jaskier. Where are you?” Amy’s voice, tinny through the phone, had a tense, worried tone to it.

“Jogging, why-”

“You’ve missed three technique classes and haven’t paid your fees in two weeks. Mme.Breanne told me to tell you that if you don’t get your butt in here by tomorrow night for the rehearsal, with cash to pay the missed fees, she’s cutting you from the performance.” 

Jaskier dragged his hand down his face, moaning. “No, I told her…” He didn’t find himself filling with anger, or even remorse as Amy had probably been expecting. He’d tried to contact their ballet teacher, tell her that he was out of work and low on cash. Apparently the message hadn’t gotten through. “Amy, my parents cut me off. I just got a job as a cashier, but it’s going to take me some time to make up the cash. I don’t know if I can do that.” 

“Are you gonna let her cut you from the performance?”

Above all else, Jaskier just felt tired. He was worried about Geralt, and about his relationship with Geralt, and how he was going to pay for fucking necessities. Whether or not he could take part in the ballet performance, at this point, had dropped quite low on his priority list. For a brief second, just long enough for his lungs to force in another much needed breath, he craved the past when ballet had been his biggest priority. When he and Amy would spend hour after hour perfecting their foutées, and committing their dances to perfect muscle memory. When the soft piano music had been a soothing lullaby to his electric soul. Now those memories felt like someone else’s life. 

“I think I’ll withdraw myself from the performance. That seems to have a bit more dignity to it then letting myself be forced out.” He tried to cap off the sad sentiment with a laugh, but all he managed was a sort of nasal exhale. “I’m really sorry, Amy. I wish I had a better option.” 

Geralt had finally noticed Jaskier’s interruption, and had circled back to him. He didn’t stop jogging even when he got to Jaskier’s side, legs doing an odd sort of shuffle as he attempted to jog in place. He motion with his hands, something that probably meant ‘why have you stopped running, this is going to screw with our timing’. Jaskier nodded towards the phone pressed to his ear, and held up a finger: ‘Just a minute’. He didn’t need Geralt to know that he’d been practically kicked out of ballet, because probably Geralt would want to fix it for him and that would make Jaskier feel even worse about jumping to the conclusion that Geralt committed illegal acts. 

“Jaskier, you know I will support you no matter what. Don’t be sorry,” Amy continued through the phone. “There is, uh, there is one more thing that might make you change your mind, though…” She tapered off, hesitant to continue.

“And that is?” Jaskier prodded. He could feel Geralt staring holes into him as he waited for Jaskier to finish. Questions would surely follow. The sun slipped out from behind a cloud and shone right at Jaskier, heating up his already red cheeks. He hated running. 

“Oh this is so stupid, but Sam is, I guess, threatening you.” Sam was a boy from Jaskier’s ballet class, and the two of them were acquainted but far from friends. They had contradicting personalities. “He’s upset because without you, your part will have to be cut from the performance, and that’s his biggest part too. He has this photo… He said he’s going to post it to Facebook if you don’t come back.” 

This time, Jaskier really was able to laugh. “Wait a minute, have you seen the picture?” 

“No. He said it’s a picture of us.” Amy sounded much more worried than she ought to have been.

“Oh my gosh, he’s bullshitting you.”

“So he doesn’t have a picture?”

“Oh no, I’m quite sure he does. It’s just no where near as bad as he’s trying to paint it to be. He can go ahead and do whatever he wants. What does he think, that I’ll be scared of people knowing we’re friends?” Jaskier rotated his ankle in slow circles, big toe pushed into the concrete. 

“No he said- I think he wants to break up you and Geralt.” Amy’s voice was hardly above a whisper. Jaskier could picture here, shoulder hunched, both hands cupping the phone against her face. 

“No way. In fact, Sam sent me the picture. I’ll show Geralt myself.” Jaskier paused, before adding, somewhat immaturely, “you can tell Sam to suck it.” 

“I’ll get the point across,” said Amy, with what was surely a menacing smile coloring her voice. The line cut off, and Jaskier wasted no time to turn to Geralt and explain the sudden phone call, omitting the more damaging parts. 

“Oh, and one more thing.” Jaskier unlocked his phone as he spoke. “There’s a photo of me that might start circling the internet, and I want you to see it here first.” 

Geralt regarded him with a hard to read expression. His head bounced up and down as he refused to stop jogging, although at this point the movement was closer to unenthusiastic hopscotch. Jaskier found the image, a hug between him and Amy during ballet class, and held it up. 

“Me and a friend. No problem, obviously, except that some people just can’t leave well enough alone.” 

Geralt squinted, placing a hand over Jaskier’s to help steady the phone. He finally stood still. “Why are you showing me this?” 

“There is a boy in my ballet class who is gonna post it and, like I said, I wanted you to see it from me first, so that you didn’t get confused” 

“I don’t understand. It’s a picture of you and your friend… Amy.” Geralt impressed Jaskier by remembering her name. “Why would that confuse me?” 

Jaskier pulled his phone back towards himself, scanning the picture with his own eyes once before turning the thing off. “I just didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

“What idea?” So Geralt was really going to make him spell it out here, under the hot sun, sweaty and unimpressive among the stream of committed joggers passing by on the trail. Jaskier licked his lips, tasted salt. He struggled to find the right words. 

“Some people, people who don’t know each other like we do, may look at a photo like that of their significant other and be… worried.”

“I wouldn’t have been worried, but you’re making me wonder if I should be.” Geralt took a step towards Jaskier, moving parallel to the running trail. 

Jaskier quickly tried to back track. “No, not at all. Forget I even brought it up. Let’s get back to running, yeah?” 

“Is there a reason for me to be worried?” 

“No, Geralt, you can trust me. I know you trust me.” Jaskier met Geralt half way, taking a step to bring them close together. He dropped his voice, trying for soft and soothing. “I love you. Trust me.” Jaskier, fairly certain that that was the first time they had used the ‘L’ word, raised a hand, fingers coiled to cup Geralt’s jaw. He didn't reach him before Geralt pushed it away. 

“Are you saying that I should trust you because you’ve been nothing but loyal in the past? That you’ve never kissed other people while we’ve been together? Because that ship has sailed, Jaskier.” Geralt, in an uncommon show of dramatics, threw his arms up to accentuate his point. “Maybe what they say about bisexuals is right. You just can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

Jaskier staggered backwards, stunned. “Excuse me? What is going on with you? I thought we had decided to put the beach behind us.” He tried to ignore the way that Geralt’s choice of words, choice to blame his sexuality, had hurt. “That was uncalled for.” 

“This relationship is uncalled for.” 

“What-”

“I said leave me alone.” Geralt countered Jaskier’s tentative step forward with a lunge towards him, and knocked Jaskier backwards. Jaskier’s back hit a lamp post, knocking the air out of his lungs. His head flew back, hitting the post as well, sending a ringing through his ears. “I’m- I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Geralt clasped his hands together against his chest, frozen. “God, Jaskier, I didn’t mean to push you like that, I just-” 

“You hurt me.” Jaskier choked out, dazed. In all of his wildest dreams, although they would have been more like nightmares, he never could have imagined this. He knew they were different sizes, and that Geralt was much stronger, but he would have fought anyone who even suggested Geralt would use the strength to hurt him. Somehow, he’d been wrong. 

“I lost control.” 

“In more ways than one, I think.” Jaskier slowly righted himself, blinking away the black spots in his vision. Geralt didn’t move to help him “Did you mean what you said?”

“I think so.”

“Then go, Geralt.” 

Geralt appeared to be tearing himself in two trying to decide whether to stay and help, or to leave. Jaskier felt too numb to try and influence his decision: Geralt couldn’t trust him. Perhaps that was all there was to it. Although the exact point where he’d said the wrong thing eluded him, Jaskier had led them to this point. Maybe there was no going back. 

A large group of joggers, huffing and puffing as they stampeded by, swallowed up Geralt. When they had passed by, and the world around Jaskier stopped spinning, Geralt was nowhere to be seen. Presumably he’d taken the opportunity to leave without being watched, a clean break. Maybe he’d been stampeded ‘Lion King’ style. Jaskier couldn’t say that he cared either way. He walked slowly back to his car, head still pounding and a bruise no doubt blooming on his back. His vision was still swirling off to the edges, and although he doubted that he should be driving like that, Jaskier found himself with a worryingly low sense of self-preservation. 

Geralt and him were over, and there wasn’t even a good reason for it. The reason was himself. 

\--~--

“Jaskier, are- what are we doing?” 

Jaskier didn’t turn away from the window. He didn’t make any movement to acknowledge Kenji’s presence; a large part of himself was still trying to decide if he’d made the right call to invite him over. Jaskier rang his hands where they were clasped behind his back, and watched out the window as if it were a movie. A storm appeared to be moving in. Maybe when all of this—the unavoidable after talk—was over, Jaskier could waltz outside and let himself be struck by lightening. 

He heard the shuffle of his bed sheets as Kenji shifted. What Jaskier had done wasn’t fair to him, and really it also wasn’t fair to Geralt, but Jaskier was pretty sure he didn’t give a crap about that. Geralt and him were in the past, as far as he was concerned. He tried to reason the abrupt breakup with himself: who would stay together with a person who didn’t even like you enough to touch you? It had been charming, at first, that Geralt had always been so gentle and light when he held Jaskier, but at this point it was only embarrassing. A show of just how unreciprocated Jaskier’s feeling must have been. 

No matter what Jaskier tried to tell himself, it stung all the same. He was humiliated, and furious at himself. At least, for the moment, he had Kenji. 

“I’m not mad at you,” Jaskier said, a sentiment which could just have easily been a continuation of his internal monologue, but which had managed to slip out past his lips.

“Well I would hope not.” Kenji kept his voice light, bouncy, as if it would ease the tension in the room. “You’re the one who called me.” 

“I’m not a bad person.” 

“I didn’t say that.” 

Jaskier turned, letting the chain hanging from his belt hit the window with a crack. Who the fuck thought this was stylish, chains from belts? Kenji, that’s who. And somehow Jaskier found himself in Kenji’s pants, slipped on in a haste after… after they had finished. 

“No, but you were thinking it, how terrible I am,” Jaskier said. “You’ve been thinking it this whole time, I can feel it. He doesn’t—he doesn’t trust me, Kenji. He won’t even kiss me. We’re over.” 

Kenji was off of the bed before Jaskier could say any more. He cupped Jaskier’s face with one palm, and Jaskier leaned into the touch, so warm and stabilizing. Kenji slid his other arm around Jaskier’s back and pressed their sides together, as if he was trying to make as much contact as possible. He led Jaskier to the bed, and sat them both down. Jaskier leaned back against the head rest, and Kenji settled himself in opposite, sitting up. Their hands were held together, keeping contact. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Kenji asked. 

“Yes of course I want to talk about it. I’m already talking about it.” Jaskier bit his lip and looked away. “Sorry for snapping at you.” 

“It’s ok. Hey-” Kenji squeezed Jaskier’s hand. “I’m here to listen.” And God damn, Kenji’s dark eyes in the low light, searching his face as if they were hungry, nearly made Jaskier forget all of his problems enough to do it all over again. There was something between them, or there could have been, if Jaskier hadn’t fucked it up by using him like some cheap distraction, some way to ‘get back’ at Geralt. Perhaps he was just destined to be alone forever. 

“I get so lonely… even when I’m with him.” Jaskier spoke quietly, raspy intake of breath louder than his words. Kenji followed along dutifully. “He looks at me and he doesn’t see me, he doesn’t confide in me. He’s so far away. I’m a good listener, I-”

“You are. I can see it.” 

“Hmm. And it’s so unfair, because I wouldn’t even mind, except I see him as so much more than just strong and capable. When I look at him, I see kindness, and empathy, and a person with a beating heart and a firing brain.” Jaskier watched Geralt in his mind’s eye as he spoke of him: his stern, stubborn face that would smile so infrequently, but stop Jaskier dead in his tracks when it did. “He’s such a good person. Obviously, obviously too good of a person for me.”

“You’re a good person too, Jaskier. Life is nothing but an amalgamation of all of our choices, and sometimes we make the wrong ones, but the way you’re talking right now, your heart is so big. You care so deeply. It’s harder, I think, for people like us who feel so much. Driven by our emotions, it’s easier to make the wrong choice. We can always get back on our feet.” 

Jaskier hid his face in his hands, too overwhelmed to look at Kenji. How in the world had he managed to find maybe the only person who would say such a thing. Outside, thunder cracked, and a gust of wind rattled the window frame. 

“I just want to be loved.” Jaskier said, voice muffled. 

“I know, I-” Kenji pulled away when Jaskier tried to kiss him, holding Jaskier back by the chest. “Not me, Jaskier. You don’t really want me.”

“Yes, I do. Yes I do, you’re so pretty. Mmh, Kenji, Geralt doesn’t love me. He doesn’t say the things you say. I want you.” 

Kenji’s intake of breath was sharp, and his eyes clouded over as he averted his gaze. When he spoke again, it was with a low, pained tone. “You don’t love me in the daylight, Jaskier. You don’t love me when you’re thinking clearly. When you take a moment to think, to let your emotions ease, you know. You love Geralt. Maybe you haven’t even admitted it to yourself yet, but you’re in love with him.” Kenji let Jaskier fall against him, but only into a hug, his body folded tensely under Jaskier’s arms. “It’s ok, Jaskier.” Kenji said over his shoulder. “It’ll be okay.” 

They fell apart, eventually. Jaskier’s cheeks were damp when he pulled away, crumpled into a heap on his bed. He always knew he was a crier, but these last couple of weeks had used up his tears as greedily as the first rainfall after a drought. He didn’t think about what Kenji had said, because he didn’t need to: of course he loved Geralt. When he was honest with himself, there had never been a doubt in his mind, but that didn’t fix their current situation. Geralt still didn’t trust him, and Jaskier had still cheated on him. They had still broken up. What the heck was he supposed to do now? Die in a wallow of self pity, he supposed. 

Kenji appeared to disagree. He patted Jaskier’s collapsed form once before hopping off of the bed, clicking on the old TV that sat on the floor. Jaskier didn’t ever use the TV. He had Netflix on his laptop, and who in their right mind would watch cable TV when Netflix was an option? Additionally, the TV hadn’t come with any sort of stand, or even a remote. Jaskier’s brother had dumped the TV into Jaskier’s room as a sort of storage place for it long before Jaskier had even moved in, and neither could be bothered to move it, so there it stayed, collecting dust and taking up a large part of the floor. At least five cat toys were hidden behind it, irretrievable, much to the chagrin of cat. 

Some sort of news station was on. Jaskier hated the News. Life was terrible—everyone hated each other and did bad things and the rich stayed rich while the poor got poorer. There was no reason, Jaskier thought, to subject yourself to a reminder of this. The News channel seemed like some joke being played on everyone, just to further dim spirits. Ah, yes, another shooting, more terrifying effects of climate change, killer wasps in the USA. Lovely. And yet, tonight, he couldn’t bring himself to resist. Kenji had sat himself on the floor, eyes glued to the screen, and Jaskier, in turn, glued his eyes to Kenji. His hair was pushed up at the back, disheveled dark spikes reaching towards the ceiling. The slope of his neck, light and smooth, shone below. 

The voice from the TV droned on about a house caught on fire in the town over, and about a store that Jaskier had never heard of, which was closing down due to lack of business. Apparently it was a real shame, as the store had been a real staple of the neighborhood. Jaskier ran his fingers up and down the seam of his—Kenji’s—pants, trying to zone out. The storm outside finally broke and rain pounded onto the roof. In his room, with no lights on except the hazy glow from the TV, boxed in by the sound of the rain, Jaskier felt like a fish in fish bowl, hazily unaware of the world. 

“Hey, look at that,” Kenji said, waving backwards to get Jaskier’s attention without budging his eyes from the screen. On the TV, as swarm of police cars crowded around the entryway to a dark Tudor style. Policemen with their guns up yelled for criminals inside, coaxing them out of the building. Each one who exited, clothed in black with their face hidden, was promptly snatched up by a police officer, cuffed, and thrown away into the back seat of a car. 

Kenji was trying to catch Jaskier up, saying something about a robbery, or a string of robberies, or an impressive, criminal mastermind-esque group of robbers finally being caught, but Jaskier was hardly paying attention. Something about the group caught his attention, pulled at something in his memory. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. 

“Do you know where they’ve hit before this, recently?” 

Kenji appeared unperturbed by the question. “Uh, I think the reports that have been accredited to them are mainly in residential areas.”

“Anywhere downtown? Maybe close to the flower shop?” 

“Well, now that you mention it-” 

Jaskier all but fell off his bed in a mad dash to get closer to the TV. He propped himself right up against it, so close that his eyes threatened to see double, and watched as a taller man exited the house. He walked carefully, with his hands raised. Apprehensive, calculating. All of the air left Jaskier’s lungs. A criminal. An allegedly dangerous criminal, with long, light hair and a strong build, who walked carefully, slowly. 

“OhMyFuckingGodThat’sGeralt.” Jaskier managed to say, voice raised much too high for the late hour. Kenji probably said something in return, but Jaskier didn’t wait to hear what. His head spun with adrenaline as he tried to figure out the quickest route to the police station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops. Who could have guessed that that photo would come back to bite him in the ass?
> 
> Thoughts? Predictions? Love to hear em'!


	10. Jaskier and the Unpresentable Truths

Jaskier had a car, a perfectly good, fast car with a tank full of gas, but his brain wasn’t functioning enough for him to remember this. He raced, lungs on fire, down the deserted late-night streets, entering downtown where the flashing pedestrian crossing signs did nothing to slow his mad sprint. He found the police station by luck more than solid knowledge of its location, and only when his hand was an inch from the door did he pause to think. What exactly was he planning to do here? Barge right in and demand to see Geralt? Plead that he wasn’t a bad person? Which he wasn’t, although now that he thought about it Jaskier had no real evidence of anything that would free Geralt. He hadn’t known anything about anything, and was just as confused and shell shocked as he was terrified. 

Maybe if he’d been thinking he would have at least grabbed his wallet and used the little money he had to bail Geralt out. Could you bail someone out no matter the crime? The only things Jaskier really knew about the criminal justice system he’d learned on TV, and he didn’t feel like Brooklyn Nine-Nine was going to be a large help here. Jaskier dropped his hand from where it had been hovering by the door handle, and wiped his sweaty palm against his pants. His wrist brushing against the thin, cool chain reminded Jaskier that he was still wearing Kenji’s pants, and that his hair and shirt probably still looked ruffled and undone. At least he’d bothered to put shoes on before leaving, even if they were just his old runners, untied laces flopping limply to the ground on either side. 

With a deep breath to steady himself, Jaskier pushed the heavy door open, and the calm night was eaten in a flash by the loud, hectic liveliness of the police station. No one noticed Jaskier step into the building, even when the door shut behind him with a thump. There were what looked like fifty people all crowded together around desks and a nonsensical arrangement of chairs. The police officers in their navy uniforms never stood still; many had papers and file folders clenched in their hands, or coffee cups that looked like they had been half-full for hours. There was a constant low buzz in the air, which added to the sense that Jaskier had stumbled into an active beehive. 

Feeling like a ghost, Jaskier circled the room, shoulder to the wall. He heard muffled conversations as he moved along, some words sticking out through the cacophony.  
“...tracked down, finally…”  
“...danger to the public…”  
“...but you know it won’t last. They never…”   
“...the power of big money…”   
Jaskier imagined himself as a cat, ears twisting to pick up noise as his brain spun in an attempt to make sense of it. His top priority, though, was Geralt: he had his eyes trained for white hair, the familiar curve of his broad shoulders. Jaskier hadn’t seen his face clearly on the TV, but that didn’t matter. He knew, without a doubt, that Geralt had been arrested, and that he would be hidden somewhere in this busy accumulation of people. 

The hurtful, fluorescent lighting and constant noise of the main intake room had shocked Jaskier into a strange sort of survival mode. When he stumbled out of the room and into a dark hallway, its thick walls creating a vacuum of quiet, he fell more into himself. The point of his mission reaffirmed itself in his head, and he looked around. Off of the hallway, many closed doors presumably led to holding rooms, or offices. He hadn’t seen any sign of his boyfriend yet, and so maybe Geralt would be behind one of these new doors. Closing the door behind him and isolating himself in the hallway, Jaskier willed himself to not go jumping to worst case scenarios.

He walked the hallway in the dead centre, trying to listen to any noise that may be coming from behind the closed doors on either side of him. If he thought he heard something, he stepped closer to that door, and sometimes even tentatively put his ear up against it. He heard tapping, like the keys on a keyboard, through one door, and the whir of a printer from another. He heard voices though a couple, and these were the times when his hair stood up. He would stand stock still, angled uncomfortably sideways so that only his hand, cupped around his ear, touched the door. He listened to the smooth cadence of a woman speaking, her voice raising at the end as a question, and held his breath for the answering voice, but it wasn’t Geralt. 

In somewhat of a last ditch effort, once Jaskier had reached the end of the hallway and heard nothing behind that door either, he unlocked his phone. Selecting Geralt’s contact, Jaskier let the phone dial. He didn’t hold the phone to his ear, instead listening for the answering ring from Geralt's phone somewhere in the police station. It was a slim chance, as Geralt usually had his phone off, and even if it had been on, only a complete fool would bring a turned on phone with them into a robbery. The screen lit up as it finished calling the number, and Jaskier’s phone began the call. 

Jaskier heard a ring. 

It was subtle, as if the phone was stuffed underneath a pile of papers, but a ring nonetheless. And it had been perfectly in time with Jaskier’s phone call, so unless it was some sort of crazy coincidence… Jaskier turned and began to retrace his steps down the hallway, towards where he thought he’d heard the ring. It happened once again, decidedly through a door that Jaskier now stopped right in front of, and was followed by a whispered command. 

“Turn that damn thing off.” Jaskier recognized the voice, the accent, but couldn’t quite place it. He heard the shuffle of papers, and of a zipper being opened, then his phone call disconnected. Jaskier could hardly hold in a yelp of uneasiness as he watched his screen turn black, the phone call hung up by someone in the room right in front of him. It was Geralt’s phone, which meant only one of two things: someone had Geralt’s phone and was using it, or Geralt was there, just one closed door away from Geralt. Being held in a police station. Jaskier had never wished harder for x-ray vision. 

He looked both ways down the hallway, checking for spectators, before lowering himself down to seated outside of the door. On a whim, he opened the microphone app on his phone and set it to record. The phone he wedged up against the bottom of the door, where the crack was too small for the phone to fit through, but perhaps big enough for the sound to be recorded. Making the most of what he had, he cupped his hand once more against the door, and pressed his ear to it. He held his breath and listened. 

From inside the room he heard the woman’s voice once more, and now, knowing that she was with Geralt, he was able to place her accent. Although her voice was harsher than Jaskier remembered it, seething with venom even through the door, Jaskier knew that the woman speaking was Geralt’s mom. Mrs. Durivii’s voice spun in and out of just loud enough for Jaskier to make out the words. They were not kind words. 

Geralt’s replies, though few and far between, crumbled further and further into desperation. He stuttered in a way that Jaskier had never heard before, weak and tired. The words he spoke were jumbled together, and came falling out of his mouth in streams that Jaskier would attribute more similarly to his own style of talking than Geralt’s. Somehow, with phrases that mainly capped off on words like ‘responsibility’ and ‘duty’, Geralt’s mom was torturing him. Jaskier’s fingers twitched against the door, desperate to put a stop to the pain. He couldn’t picture Geralt—had never seen him in a state like this to know what he would look like—but his brain seemed inclined to try to nonetheless. Jaskier fought to push the image from his mind, horrified. 

Finally, a sentence came through the door with all of its words intact: “I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to hurt people.” It was so small, so weak, that Jaskier had to hold in a cry of desperation. There was no reason in the world that Geralt should have sounded like that. Should feel inclined to say things like that. 

His mother’s answer came through similarly clearly: “But you have, Geralt. You do hurt people. You can’t change; you won’t ever be good again.” 

And that was it. Jaskier had had enough. Kind, gentle, clever Geralt shouldn’t be talked to like that. Thoughtful, loving Geralt who cared for his mom so much, who could be so easily influenced by what she said, shouldn’t have to hear those things from her traitorous lips. Jaskier, still on the floor, reached and tried the door handle. Found it unsurprisingly locked. He hurled his fist into the door. 

Bang. 

The voices in the room stopped. He hit the door again. 

Bang. 

A different door, the one down at the end of the hallway, opened, lighting a strip of pale light along the corridor. Jaskier tugged himself up to standing, and hit the door again. 

Bang. 

Footsteps, light and quick like running, sounded from the end of the hallway. From inside the room, Jaskier heard the scraping of a chair pulling back from a table. Someone spoke too softly for him to make out any words. 

He kicked the door, hard, with the bottom of his foot. Bang. 

“Open the door, I know you’re in there. Open the door, or I’ll-” Or he’ll what? Jaskier hadn’t gotten that far. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt’s voice, from behind the door, was a gasp. It faltered near the end, like it had gotten caught in his throat. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier pounded the door with both fists. Bang, bang, bang. Movement came from inside the door, and loud talking which was more the sounds of an argument than articulated words flooded around him. Geralt’s mother screamed Geralt’s name so loudly that it rickashayed around the hallway, and then the door was pulled open. Jaskier nearly fell inward, but was stopped by Geralt’s firm chest. Geralt didn’t spare a word nor a glance, but instead began pulling Jaskier away from the door. 

Jaskier caught on quick enough. He could feel the urgency of the situation pulsing through Geralt, through the walls all around them, and folded into the footsteps, growing louder, as police officers from the holding area came running to see what all the fuss was about. He and Geralt held hands as they raced away from the footsteps, towards what Jaskier could only hope wasn’t actually a dead end. 

Geralt pulled open the second to last door, letting Jaskier enter first and shutting the door once more behind them. He’d lead Jaskier inside what appeared to be an unused office, with no windows and a dusty wooden floor. Geralt let go of Jaskier’s hand and threw himself to the ground near the far wall. He reached underneath the unkempt desk and coaxed up a floorboard which stood out a bit lighter than the rest. 

“Uh, secret door,” Geralt said by way of explanation. Jaskier knew, logically, that he should have many questions surrounding why there was a secret escape route out of the police station, and why Geralt knew exactly how to find it, but in the moment all he could think about was the racing footsteps from out in the hallway, and how quickly they would catch up. 

Geralt moved back so that Jaskier could enter first. The hole in the floor was a long, thin shape that Jaskier had to contort himself to fit through. It was pitch black inside, so dark that he couldn’t even see his feet after they’d dropped through. He slid in stiffly, unsure of what to expect, but found that the floor was only about three feet down. Jaskier got to his hands and knees, unable to do anything else in the confined space. The ground was grimy and hard beneath him, like rough concrete covered in a layer of dirt; the soft skin of his palms protested immediately. Jaskier forced himself forwards, crawling, in what felt like the most bizarre escape scene out of a distinctly b-list movie. He heard Geralt drop in behind him, and watched in discomfort as the sliver of light disappeared when Geralt lowered the floorboard back into place after them. 

“It’s not too long. When you get to the grate, get out, and wait.” Geralt’s voice came loud and close in the tunnel, enough so that Jaskier could imagine he was speaking right into his ear. It was comforting, the sensation of Geralt so close to him, and Jaskier held on to it as he scraped his way along the concrete floor. In the dark, nothing stood out to measure distance or time. Jaskier was lulled into an almost meditative state, focusing on moving forward and nothing else. Finally, strips of light from above, hitting the ground in front of him, shocked Jaskier back into coherence. It appeared at first to be daylight, which would mean that they’d been crawling through the tunnel for hours, but when he pushed the grate up and climbed above ground once more, the illumination shone clearly from a street light. 

“Oh man,” Jaskier mumbled to himself, dusting the dirt off of his palms and knees. Skin tight jeans were not made for crawling.

They’d made it somewhere just outside the city, on the side of a deserted residential road. Luckily, it had stopped raining. Jaskier took a step to the side to let Geralt climb out after him, and all of his questions came flooding back. He forced himself to hold off; they weren’t in the clear yet. He waited, as he’d been told to do, and looked to Geralt for instruction. 

Now for the first time, Jaskier could really take a look at Geralt. His face was drawn, eyes hidden in deep purple rings as if he hadn’t slept in days. His skin seemed to be stretched tightly across his face, colourless and delicate. His hair hung limply onto his shoulders, coloured bright white from the street light. He could just as easily have been a ghost as a boy. Jaskier longed to take him someplace warm and light, like Hawaii, and force him to relax. Bring him endless cocktails, with the little umbrellas, and tease him gently until he cracked a smile. 

Instead, they were in the middle of escaping from the police. Jaskier couldn’t believe that not even a day ago he and Geralt had been jogging beside the ocean, still together and relatively unbothered (at least as far as Jaskier knew). 

“Can you run?” Geralt asked, which struck Jaskier as an odd question, because right now Geralt seems to be in a state much less likely to run than Jaskier. All the same, Jaskier replied that yes, he could run. Geralt nodded, turned, and began sprinting up the road. 

Even more reminiscent of that morning (given that it was still, in fact, before midnight), Jaskier urged himself into a jog, trailing behind Geralt but certain to keep up enough that they wouldn’t become separated. Jaskier couldn’t even begin to imagine how Geralt, who had been through so much that Jaskier had seen and so much he was sure he didn’t even know about, could still keep up such a quick pace. And while going uphill, no less. 

Towards the end of the road, where the sides became crowded by thicker and thicker clusters of tall, evergreen trees, Geralt took a corner. Jaskier had looked away for a moment, and just caught the back of Geralt as he disappeared into the trees. A trail, thin and easy to miss, greeted Jaskier and led him after Geralt. The trees around him grew thicker and more numerous until he was running through a forest; without the streetlights, everything was dark again. He slowed, squinting at his feet in an attempt to not trip, or step off of the dirt path. 

“Geralt?” He cried into the abyss. 

“You’re almost there. Keep going,” answered Geralt’s disembodied voice.

“I can’t see.” 

“Follow my voice.” Geralt said. And then, after a quick pause, he seemed to realize that in order for Jaskier to follow his voice, he would need to be talking. Geralt proceeded to hum a song Jaskier didn’t recognize. 

The humming grew louder as he ran closer, until Jaskier nearly ran right into Geralt, who grabbed Jaskier by the shoulders to stop him 

“We’re here,” Geralt announced. 

‘Here’ appeared to be some sort of hide away, or children’s fort, hard to distinguish in the dark. It was two steps up a tree trunk, nestled securely in the bottom branches. Geralt, after helping Jaskier into the fort, lunged across the floor and into the darkness with the comfort and deliberation of someone who’d done it hundreds of times before. There was a rustling sound, like someone moving underneath a blanket, and then a flashlight was flicked on. Geralt stood the light up against the wall, and the fort danced with light. Now Jaskier could see that Geralt had settled himself onto a low mattress which took up half of the floor. His back was curled against the wall, and he held a corner of the white bed sheets, rubbing it back and forth between his thumb and pointer finger. Books stood in small stacks against every wall, and sweaters hung on nails by the door. Although the construction was rough and obviously done by an amateur, the fort was also very clearly cared for. And continuously. Geralt must have been visiting often. 

Jaskier had too many questions, and Geralt didn’t seem to be offering any information unprompted, so Jaskier broke the silence. “Where are we?” He started with the most immediate thing. Jaskier hadn’t moved into the small room yet; he still had one foot hanging out the door. 

“Hmm. This is my place. To get away.” Geralt looked down quickly, as if suddenly remembering something, and dug around once more in the bed sheets, this time pulling out a hair brush. He raked it through his hair twice before tossing it to the floor. 

“You’ve never told me about it.” Jaskier found himself talking quietly, and he couldn’t tell if it was because it felt more comfortable in the night time, or because of something else. 

“I haven’t told anyone about it.” Geralt moved on the mattress, sitting up. He locked his eyes on Jaskier’s, the shadows darkening his cheekbones, his under-eye circles. “Do you want to sit— ?”

Jaskier took a small step forwards, but in the small space, his step took him across the room. With the lack of chairs or really anywhere to sit other than the mattress, Geralt’s invitation was hard to understand. Surely, after what had happened during their jog that morning, Geralt wouldn’t want Jaskier that close to him. It didn’t matter how much Jaskier wanted to hold Geralt—to kiss him and comfort him and make sure he didn’t believe any of the things his mother had said—Geralt didn’t trust Jaskier. And Jaskier didn’t deserve his trust anyways. 

Jaskier began to drop to the ground, content to sit on the floor, but was pulled back by Geralt’s strong arms. 

“No, not on the floor-” Geralt said in a rush. His hands were grasped around Jaskier’s middle, pulling him backwards onto the mattress. Jaskier turned, one hip dropping onto the bed, one arm latching onto Geralt’s shoulder to keep himself upright. Because of how Jaskier had turned, their faces were close together, towards each other. Jaskier could feel the end of Geralt’s sentence float across his lips. Geralt’s hands splayed over his back, and his eyes, bright despite his tired face, bore into Jaskier’s. Jaskier took a breath, exhaled, then tried to take in another breath but couldn’t, because Geralt had kissed him. 

Jaskier tensed, memories of the last time Geralt had kissed him, in the bathroom at school, flooded his mind. But this time was nothing like that. This time, he could feel how much Geralt wanted it. Geralt’s lips were slightly opened, warm and comfortably wet against Jaskier’s, as if he’d just licked them. It wasn’t a long kiss, or it wouldn’t have been, if Jaskier had let Geralt pull away. Instead, Jaskier tightened his hold, sliding his arm around Geralt’s back, and pulled them closer together. Geralt’s mouth opened more, and it was so warm, so sweet. In the middle of nowhere, hidden in a sea of trees, they finally had the first kiss Jaskier had always dreamed of. 

Unfortunately, Geralt seemed to disagree. 

“I’m sorry,” he said once they had pulled apart. At some point Geralt had brought them down farther onto the mattress, and now they lay facing each other. The thin white sheet had gotten tangled around Jaskier’s legs, and it was cool against his heated skin. 

“Why?” Caught up with adrenaline from everything that had happened that night, and still riding the high from the best kiss he’d ever had, Jaskier couldn’t come up with any understandable reason that Geralt would be apologizing. 

“I don’t know why I did that. After this morning…” Geralt flicked his gaze to the ceiling, thinking. “Actually, I should apologize for that too.” He looked back to Jaskier, eyes firm as if trying to get across his sincerity. “I didn’t mean what I said, about not trusting you. I- I was tense. Anxious. About what I knew I would have to do later.” 

“You mean robbing that house?” Jaskier’s question was met by silence, and broken eye contact. So Geralt didn’t want to talk about that yet. “Well, maybe hold off on that apology for now, hun, because I have something I should tell you, too.” Jaskier felt his throat constrict at the next thing he had to say, so he pushed it out quickly so that it would be said at all: “I slept with someone. Earlier, tonight.” He bit his lip. “To be completely fair to myself, you and I had already broken up.” 

“So we both did things tonight that we maybe shouldn’t have.” 

Geralt’s that’s-just-how-it-is tone surprised Jaskier, and he allowed himself a second to hope that maybe it really could be that easy. About what Geralt had done, though, Jaskier bit back all of the sarcastic remarks that came to mind. He stayed quiet, in the hopes that Geralt would continue, would explain. Instead, Geralt changed the topic. He brought the focus back to their aforementioned break up

“I’m so sorry, too, Jaskier, that I hurt you. That has always—fuck—I’ve always been so scared to do that. I tried to not even give myself any opportunity to, even if that meant never touching you-” 

Geralt’s words clicked on a light bulb in Jaskier’s brain, and with everything spelled out so clearly in front of him, he couldn’t believe that he’d never noticed it before. He’d been so selfish. 

“Geralt. That’s why you never touch me? Because you’re afraid you’ll hurt me?” Jaskier tucked his elbow underneath himself, propping himself up. 

“I’ve hurt people before…” Geralt said, voice paper thin. Jaskier recalled the words he’d heard through the closed door, that Geralt’s mother had said: ‘But you have, Geralt. You do hurt people.’ 

“Oh, no, Geralt. No. I trust you, too. I trust you not to hurt me. You’re so gentle with me. I feel so safe when you’re near me.” Jaskier tried to articulate everything, to make Geralt see. 

“You shouldn’t. You don’t know what I am.” Geralt pushed himself up to an elbow as well. 

“Maybe not everything, but I know you. I know who you are with me.” 

“You don’t know me, Jaskier! I’m a criminal. I don’t know what you’re imagining, but it’s worse than anything you’re thinking of. I’m worse. I’m the worst guy out of them all.” 

“Geralt, I’m sure that’s not-” 

“No, Jask, listen. I’m the guy who’s in charge of the ‘hostages’. The people who are still in the houses when we go in. I knock them down or tie them up or hurt them until they tell us where the money’s hidden. I’m the villain in this story.” 

Jaskier, despite how badly he wanted to tell Geralt he was wrong, didn’t know how. There was no easy way to sugar coat any of that. His body decided what it wanted before his mind did, and Jaskier found himself stepping away from the mattress, away from Geralt, until he knocked into the wall on the other side of the room. 

Somehow, before Geralt had confirmed it, Jaskier hadn’t been able to really fault Geralt. He’d seen him get arrested on live TV, and had still assumed that Geralt must be innocent, somehow accidentally tied up in all of it, wrongly accused, forced to do it. But hearing that he had such an active part in it, hearing him talk about it like that, like it was just something had had to be done… now it was real. Jaskier wasn’t sure what to think. 

“You… What?” He managed to say. “How do I not know… any of that?”

“I wanted to protect you. Once you know about it, it’s harder to stay out of it. I didn’t have a choice. My mom- we needed the money. I was strong enough to be useful, and young enough to be easily persuaded. I didn’t even question it.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

Geralt looked away, fidgeting once more with the sheets. “The group of us. We plan and carry out… gigs. Illegal things. The police don’t usually care because I think that they get paid off, but this time we took it too far.”

“Holy shit, you’re actually in a gang?” 

Geralt considered. “Not a gang so much as an affiliated group of people. With interest in making money in unethical ways.” 

“So a gang.” For all of the jokes Jaskier had made in the past, he felt a dizzying rush of terror at actually being involved in something bad. Something very bad. “Geralt, this is-” 

“This is life.” Geralt said it with an air of finality that chased away anything Jaskier may have said back. 

Jaskier looked to Geralt, where he sat hunched on the mattress. He looked younger than normal, tangled in the bed sheets like that. His face was empty of emotion, eyes pointed downwards, his fatigue evident in the slumped lines of his body. Jaskier turned his head, looking instead out the door, down into the forest. Looked back towards life as he knew it. Life where he wouldn’t be associated with a wanted criminal. 

He had a choice to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, and the truths come out! What have we gotten ourselves into?? 
> 
> We're in the home stretch now, my friends. Thank you for reading!


	11. Jaskier and Geralt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the final chapter!

The cracker boxes stood so neatly on the shelf that Jaskier hated to add another row. Hated the thought of bunching them all together. He held two of the new boxes in his hands, and a cart of them pushed in beside him, but he was stalling to actually put the boxes on the shelf. So far, two customers had kindly interrupted him, asking him where to find the soy milk, or the cashews that were on sale. So far, he’d gotten two hours into his shift without actually having to disrupt the neatly organized cracker aisle. He feared that the time for stalling had finished. 

Just as Jaskier gave in and lifted a box towards the rack, he was called over the loudspeakers. He wasn’t called by name, but a cashier called for someone from the floor, and Jaskier was more than happy to oblige. He set the new cracker boxes back with the rest on the cart, and turned on his heels towards the checkout aisles. The lanyard which held his name tag swung against his chest as he did so, and against the dark blue polo shirt with the grocery store’s label that he wore as his uniform. As far as uniforms went, Jaskier couldn’t complain. He could choose whatever pants to wear, so long as they were clean and presentable, and the polo shirt was comfortable, if not very fashionable. 

Jaskier had recognized the voice over the loudspeaker, which had made him even happier to reply to the call, but he still wasn’t completely ready to see Kenji waiting at the cash register. 

“I believe you asked for help?” Jaskier asked, standing a polite distance away from the customer, opposite Kenji behind the register. 

Kenji smiled his lopsided grin, dark eyes staring into Jaskier’s. “Yes, thank you. We were hoping you could bring us a pack of muffins from the bakery. The carrot ones?” He directed the last part to his customer, an elderly woman in a cheery pink sweater vest. 

“Oh yes, dear,” she replied, “but I can get them myself. If you’ll be so kind as to just point me in the right direction. I’d prefer to pick out the pack myself.” 

Jaskier tried to volunteer himself to run and grab the muffins instead, but the woman wouldn’t budge. Finally, he gave in and accompanied the woman only halfway to the bakery section, before she convinced him to let her go alone. She asked him instead to return to the cash register, and tell the ‘fine young man behind the counter’ to wait just a bit longer. 

Jaskier didn’t rush back to Kenji. They hadn’t spoken since Jaskier had run out on him, leaving Kenji alone in an unfamiliar house without so much as a goodbye. He didn’t expect Kenji to be mad at him, although he would have understood if he was. Jaskier wanted to make it right, to somehow hopefully salvage a friendship, but he wasn’t sure how to. At least not in the short amount of time he’d have to do it. 

“The lady, she’ll be back soon,” Jaskier said by way of greeting. A person could only walk so slowly while also remaining presentable at work, and so he’d had to return to Kenji eventually. He leaned his elbows onto the conveyor belt, but quickly realized how awkward that felt and stood back up, his hands clasping and unclasping into fists at his sides. 

“Ok, no problemo,” said Kenji distractedly. He had his drawer open and was thumbing through a pile of lotto receipts. Once he’d gotten to the bottom of the stack, Kenji flipped them all over and let his drawer close, wiping his hands on his blue apron. Kenji, as a cashier, had an apron to wear with his uniform, and he’d paired it with very ripped black jeans that Jaskier doubted were strictly in the dress code. As Kenji had claimed, he really did seem to be a favorite among the cashier supervisors; they must let him get away with some things. Kenji turned back to the counter and startled to see Jaskier still there. “Was there something else?” 

“Are we okay? You haven’t texted me,” Jaskier blurted. 

Kenji looked around, as if weary of being overheard. “Jaskier, we’re at—” 

“Yeah, at work, I know. It’s just— I filed for a transfer, and it’s been approved. You got me this job and I didn’t want you to think I would just quit like that. I didn’t. I’m starting at a new store in a month.”

Kenji’s mouth popped open into an ‘o’. “Is this because of me?” 

“No, of course not. It’s actually…” Now it was Jaskier’s turn to check wearily for spectators. They were lucky that the store was nearly deserted this late in the day. No customers had even passed by since they’d started talking. “For university. I’ve been accepted into one pretty far from here, and I decided that it would be better to move there at the start of summer, give myself some time to settle in.” 

“I thought you weren’t able to afford university. Not right away, at least. Not after your parents.” 

“Geralt and I have a plan. He’ll work, and I’ll keep working. I applied for student loans, too.” 

Kenji smiled and it actually looked genuine. “That’s great to hear. So you and him, you managed to work things out?” 

“Yeah, we did.” Jaskier couldn’t keep the damn lovey-dovey grin off of his face when he thought of Geralt. “And it was all thanks to you.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” Kenji looked down bashfully. 

“No, it really was. You’ve helped me so much.” Jaskier was saved from saying anything even mushier by the reappearance of the elderly lady. She had not one but three containers of muffins in her hands. 

“Thank you, dears,” she said. Kenji looked at her with a his customer service smile, then shifted his gaze to Jaskier, and the expression transformed. In it, Jaskier could see all that he needed to know that he and Kenji would be alright. Jaskier walked away slowly, listening to the friendly conversation that Kenji kept up with the lady, and how he was able to make her laugh. He felt a warmth in his chest. 

He returned to the cracker aisle, and puzzled over it until he managed to fit the new crackers onto the shelf in a way that didn’t disrupt the organization. In the end, the whole row turned out better from the new addition. 

\--~--

“Do you think we can share my bed? It’s not that big, but I’m not sure how we’d fit another one in here.” 

Geralt followed just behind Jaskier as they entered Jaskier’s bedroom. Jaskier’s brother hadn’t even batted an eye when they’d asked if Geralt could live in the house for the next few months. His brother wasn’t a stranger to taking in strays. When Jaskier had moved in, scared and unsure after leaving his parent’s house, he’d felt strangely alone even in the company of a family member. He hoped that he could help Geralt avoid some of that feeling as he got used to living away from his mother’s house. The change would be good, and was necessary after what had happened, but Geralt would still feel displaced. Maybe sleeping together in Jaskier’s bed would actually work in their favor. 

Geralt seemed to agree. “That, yeah. That’ll be fine.” He stepped past Jaskier to drop his bag onto the bed in question. They’d returned to Geralt’s house while his mom wasn’t home to grab his things. Geralt hadn’t seen his mother since being brought into the police station; he’d been living in a motel room in the two weeks since, staying mostly to himself while the whole thing smoothed itself out. They’d gotten in trouble before, Geralt had told Jaskier, but never that bad. In the past, it had always just gone away without much trouble. He hoped, and had appeared to be right, that the same would happen this time as well. 

The bag Geralt emptied onto the bed was a thin backpack, with hardly enough room for the two school textbooks that he’d jammed into it. He’d also packed a few items of clothing, and his toothbrush and hairbrush. 

“You’ll be okay with just that?” Jaskier didn’t wait for the answer. He pulled out the top drawer of his dresser and began rooting around in it, pushing his t-shirts to the side. “You can use this drawer.” 

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” 

“Uh-huh. I don’t have that many t-shirt, anyways—”

“No. I mean…” 

Jaskier turned to face Geralt. He was sitting on the bed near the little pile of all his worldly possessions. His eyes were cast down, and his hand was up near the collar of his shirt. He spun something shiny around in between his fingers. 

“You still have that?” Jaskier asked, which he realized too late wasn’t an answer to Geralt’s question. 

Geralt nodded his chin to look down at the wolf pendant. The same one that Jaskier had gifted to him. “Of course,” he said simply.

Jaskier brightened. Geralt still had the gift, still liked it and wore it. He slid the drawer closed, listening for the squeak as it slid back in. He’d lived in this bedroom for long enough now that it had begun to feel like a home. He hadn’t realized until now that Geralt felt so much more like home than any place ever could. 

“We’ll be alright, I think.” 

“Huh?” Said Geralt, who still hadn’t received an answer to his previous question.

“Now, here, yeah. But I mean when we move away. When I’m in school, and we’re both working, I think we’re gonna be ok.” He stood next to Geralt, took one of his hands. “I don’t need to be anywhere in particular. As long as I’m with you.” 

Geralt looked down again. He brought his hand back from between Jaskier’s, and held it on his lap. 

“What, too cheesy?” Jaskier asked.

“No.” Geralt smoothed his hand over his thigh, stalling. “You say that, but, there’s still so much you don’t know.” 

“Then tell me.” 

Geralt looked at Jaskier, tried to make eye contact, but broke it immediately. Geralt had never been good at keeping eye contact during difficult conversations. It caused him to freeze up. Jaskier scooched himself onto the bed, positioning himself behind Geralt. He pressed a palm to Geralt’s back, letting the warmth seep through Geralt’s shirt. 

“Tell me now?” 

“There’s too much to say.” 

“Let’s start small, then.” Jaskier whistled the air out between his teeth as he thought. “That night, in the police station, how’d you know where to find a very convenient escape route? I wanted to ask you that in the moment, but somehow it didn’t seem like the smartest use of our time.” 

“Been there before. Not to escape, but to see it. Just remembered. It was lucky that I did, too, or else who knows where we’d be right now.” 

“You’ve been to the police station before?” Jaskier finished the circle that he’d been drawing on Geralt’s back, and moved his hands up to his hair. The blond hair was clean and brushed, easy to run his fingers though. 

“Yeah, I’ve been there with my mom. She works there.” 

“Hold up.” Jaskier said, pulling a bit too hard on Geralt’s hair in his surprise. “She works at the police station? The same lady who sold her son out to a lie of crime?” 

“It wasn’t exactly like that.” Geralt complained. “But, yeah, I guess.”

“And you don’t think that has anything to do with how the problems your little group gets themselves into just ‘go away on their own’?”

“Are you suggesting that my mom pays them off? We don’t have that kind of money.” 

“I’m just saying that maybe there are things you don’t know, too.” Jaskier slipped a hair elastic into Geralt’s hair. “I braided it.” 

Geralt touched the top of his head delicately, as if unsure what he’d find. “It feels like scales,” he said thoughtfully. 

“You’re welcome.” 

The cat, who had been napping somewhere in the clutter of Jaskier’s room, chose that moment to wake up. She jumped onto the bed, and betrayed Jaskier by snuggling up immediately with Geralt. Jaskier was about to apologize—he didn’t know how Geralt would feel about having a cat climbing all over him—when Geralt began to laugh. Jaskier couldn’t see his face, but he watched Geralt’s shoulders relax, and his hands move forward to pet the cat’s speckled fur. 

“I didn’t know you had a cat,” Geralt said, and his voice was much lighter. 

“I didn’t know you liked cats.” 

Geralt just hummed in agreement. He turned and shifted on the bed until he was laying on his back, the cat curled up in a ball on his chest. 

“What’s her name?” He asked with some difficulty. Cat fur was dangerously close to his mouth. 

“Cat.”

“You call her Cat? That’s terrible. Everybody needs a name.”

“Alright then,” Jaskier said, tone daring. “What do you think we should call her?” For as long as Jaskier had known her, Cat had always just been called Cat. It’s possible that she’d had a name at one point, but whatever it was, no one knew it anymore. It wasn’t that Jaskier didn’t like the cat, it was more just that the name, or lack thereof, seemed to fit her fine. It wasn’t as if she minded. 

“Roach.” Geralt said with much confidence. “I will call her Roach.” 

\--~-- 

This time, Jaskier didn’t knock on the door. Geralt had given him his key and his permission, and that was all Jaskier needed to let himself in without hesitation. The door, as always, opened slowly on the old hinges, protesting the use. Any sense of welcomeness or comfort that Jaskier had ever felt in this house—Geralt’s mom’s house—it was gone. As Jaskier entered the mobile home once more, all of the ugly qualities were all that stuck out. It was as if a lens had been removed, and now he was seeing the gross underbelly that had been the truth all along. 

Jaskier didn’t have to step far into the trailer to find what he was looking for. Mrs.Durivii sat on the sagging couch, a bundle of yarn between her hands. If she was planning to knit something, she hadn’t started yet. She looked to Jaskier with mild surprise, which quickly morphed into anger. 

“Out! Out of my house. You listen—” She began to stand, her legs uncrossing and the yarn dropping to the couch beside her. Jaskier put his hand out, palm forward: Stop. 

“No, Mrs.Durivii, you listen to me. Stay seated.” He put a foot up on the coffee table in front of her, hoping that the sole of his shoe would scuff the wood. Geralt’s mom stayed on the couch, although she’d traded her slumped posture for a straightened back and loftily positioned head. “Now, you’re going to hear what I have to say, and you’re not going to talk until I’m done.” 

The key to this, Geralt had cautioned him, was confidence. His mother wouldn’t give anyone a second of her attention if she saw even the slightest falter, or a single sign of fear, uncertainty. Jaskier had to be strong. For Geralt, he could be brave. 

The words were rehearsed. He and Geralt had written an essay worth of possible topics, questions and threats, but in the end had decided on simplicity. It shouldn’t be a long conversation, only a powerful one. And confidence was half the battle. 

“I know everything about you, Mrs.Durivii. I know about what you’ve done to Geralt. I know about the not-so-legal acts you oversee, and the unethical routes you take to cover them up again.” These were lies, of course. Jaskier was sure he didn’t know the half of it. “I have proof, as well, Mrs.Durivii.” At this, Jaskier smacked his phone onto the table. He pressed a button, and the queued up sound played: Mrs.Durivii, talking to Geralt, through the door at the police station. Jaskier hadn’t really gotten any information from his unplanned recording, but the short clip that he let play left everything to the imagination. Jaskier could only hope that he’d done well enough for Mrs.Durivii’s imagination to fill in the rest in a way that helped him. 

“If my proof was to get into the wrong hands, it would not go well for you. I can promise you that.” 

“Blackmail?” Mrs.Durivii scoffed. Her eyes, flicking back and forth quickly between Jaskier and his phone, betrayed her unease. “What do you want from me?” 

“What you are going to do, Mrs.Durivii, is never go looking for your son. Forget he ever existed. If you don’t want this to get out, you let Geralt go. All of his ties in this are cut, and he has no association to you or to any of the crimes. You let him move on, start a new life, and in return I don’t end yours. Understand?” Jaskier watched her eyes widen in shock, and that was enough of an answer for him. He was sure to grab his phone before moving back towards the door. He had his hand on the handle when Mrs.Durivii spoke.

“Will I ever see my boy again?” She had moved off the couch, and stood now next to Jaskier. She looked suddenly smaller and frailer than Jaskier remembered. He didn’t reply, instead opened the door. “Please,” she insisted. “Please. He’s my only son. My boy. I need to know” 

“That’s not up to me, and quite frankly, it’s not up to you,either. If Geralt finds it in his heart to forgive you, and chooses to see you again,” Jaskier stepped through the door, “he’ll do so on his own terms.” 

He didn’t wait to hear her response. 

Geralt had the car waiting two houses down, and had already started the engine when Jaskier slid into the passenger seat. 

“I don’t think we’ll have to worry about her anymore.” He sent Geralt an easy grin as he clicked in his seat belt. 

“She believed the recording? And agree to the terms?” Geralt’s voice was lined with something akin to fear, or perhaps excitement. Jaskier could tell that his muscles were tense as he shifted the car into drive and pulled onto the road. 

“Of course she did. I was perfect.” 

Geralt had the audacity to laugh. “I’m sure you were.” 

“I was!” Jaskier leaned over to lightly punch Geralt’s shoulder, but found himself sliding his fingers over Geralt’s thigh instead. Geralt didn’t brush off the contact. “Let’s go home?” 

“Let’s go home.” Geralt agreed. As the mobile home where he’d grown up faded farther behind them, Jaskier and Geralt drove towards their current residence, tucked into a corner of a house that still wasn’t theirs. Jaskier, as he watched the houses grow larger outside his window, could imagine a time—it could be in two years or in twenty—when he and Geralt would really have somewhere to call their own. 

Maybe the house would be tall with multiple stories, a historical, old house somewhere in the country. Or maybe they’d decide on a modern place, with lots of big windows overlooking a bright city. Wherever they ended up, all that mattered was that they would be together. They would always be home together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking through with this story until the end. I sincerely hope that you found it enjoyable and entertaining. 
> 
> Please don't hesitate to leave a comment! I'd love to hear what you think, or answer any questions you might have. Whether you're reading this three minutes after I posted it, or three years later, please know that I will read and appreciate your comment. 
> 
> Thanks again for coming on this journey with me <3 <3


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